


We Were Born to Be Free

by fencer_x



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sports, Ice Skating, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 12:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13570380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fencer_x/pseuds/fencer_x
Summary: Matsuoka Rin is one of the top-ranked men’s singles figure skaters in the world, but it’s neither his passion nor his dream. It’s a stop-gap until he can find someone who can skate his choreography to his satisfaction, someone he can take to the Winter Olympics and dominate pairs skating with, like his father always dreamed. Pickings are slim, though, until a viral video catches his eye: a dark horse from eastern Japan, a no-name nobody Rin’s never heard of, skating Rin’s Grand Prix series free skate program—and doing it better than Rin did. Now he just has to convince this ‘Nanase Haruka’ character that they’re a destined pair that’s going to show the audience a sight they’ve never seen before.





	We Were Born to Be Free

**Author's Note:**

> I was asked for an Ice/Figure skating AU, and here I am delivering! While this is not exactly a _Yuri!!! on Ice_ crossover, it does take place in the same universe and casually references several characters from the series. You don't need to have seen the series to enjoy this story at all, but you'll enjoy the little Easter eggs I've incorporated better if you have. Hope you enjoy!

Rin knew that, by all rights, he ought to be pissed. Anyone else in his position sure as hell would’ve been, and truth be told, he could feel it still there, simmering just under the surface and waiting to boil over. It burned like acid in the pit of his chest just behind his ribcage, and eventually it would eat its way through and bubble up, manifesting by Rin lashing out at a rinkmate or throwing his phone against the wall the next time someone texted him the youtube link.

But for now, he had that bitter irritation banked beneath ice—frozen in abject, awestruck shock as Rin replayed the video for what felt like the fiftieth time but was probably only the fifth. He would play it as many times as it took before he had every twist and turn, every eagle and crossover, every Axel and Lutz and loop memorized. Because he couldn’t look away, couldn’t exit the app, until he could close his eyes and still see the routine playing behind his eyelids. A routine he’d choreographed himself—a routine that had taken him to bronze at Skate Canada and had him just barely missing the podium by 2.6 points at the Rostelecom Cup (and he was _not_ bitter about that, not at all, thank you very much). A routine that had given him raw-scraped palms and a bout of exhaustion and nearly a rolled ankle.

A routine that had now been seen by every skater and skating enthusiast in the eastern hemisphere—and would be seen by those in the western hemisphere as soon as they woke—being performed flawlessly, being _improved upon_ by some nameless nobody from a podunk, backwater town with a single convenience store in East Japan. 

Well, nameless was a lie—of course he had a name. It was there in the damn video title: _[Nanase Haruka] Skating Matsuoka Rin’s FS Program_

And not just ‘skating’—he’d _stolen it_. The video had been taken at what seemed to be some domestic men’s singles competition in Japan. What Rin could see of the arena suggested it wasn’t anything larger-scale than a regional competition, though the skating season was nearly over now, so perhaps it was simply some local exhibition or goodwill tournament. Those were more likely—as what self-respecting athlete would lift another’s routine in its entirety and perform it in front of judges if he cared at all about his standing in the skating community or not getting raked over the coals on social media?

Rin had every right to hop on Twitter then and there, tapping out a first-rate rant and compiling a list of every synonym he could think of for _hack_ and _fraud_ and _plagiarizing little shit_ to use in the interviews sure to come. After all, you couldn’t snipe a Grand Prix Series competitor’s routine and expect to get off scot-free. He should’ve been _livid_ —but he wasn’t.

He was, against all odds and defying logic, _thrilled_. His heart was racing, its heavy thudding in his ears drowning out the sounds of a local crowd cheering in delight when Nanase turned Rin’s triple flip into a combination, and his hands were shaking not from frustration, not from rage, but from sheer unbridled _joy_.

Because it was _finally going to happen_.

The video ended, throwing up a countdown until a related video played in its stead, and Rin quickly reset the progress bar to watch again—he’d wasted half his morning on this video, and it was looking like he was going to waste the rest of the day on it too. He couldn’t help it—no, not even when Nanase upgraded one of his later triples to a quad and landed it more cleanly than Rin had at either Skate Canada _or_ the Rostelecom Cup, a silent _fuck you_ to Rin’s flagging stamina in the second half of his program.

He left the video playing on his phone and reached for his tablet—his only concession to multitasking—and opened a browser to google the guy. Nanase Haruka—older than Rin by a matter of months, his profiles seemed limited to sidebars on local news websites and one poorly maintained wikipedia page (”Favorite food: mackerel”). He’d evidently never skated outside of Japan, or even entered any high-profile domestic tournaments, instead focusing only on local exhibitions and the like. He had zero social media presence as far as Rin could tell, and in every single picture that popped up on an image search, he had this blank, dim stare that made it look like he’d never cracked a smile in his life. Even his coach—or who Rin assumed to be his coach—had more life to him than Nanase, though he looked a lot like the Swiss skater Giacometti, which wasn’t terribly high praise.

He looked nearly of a height with Rin, though his build seemed a bit leaner. Nowhere near ideal, for what Rin had in mind—plus he’d evidently never skated internationally before. Nanase was _wrong_ in every way: A virtual unknown with no formal world ranking, what was likely a piss-poor personality, and likely no experience outside of men’s singles.

But he was _perfect_ —and Rin _had_ to have him.

The video ended again, and Rin finally forced himself to close the youtube app and punch in Russell’s cell number, fingers flying over his tablet as he pulled up ticket listings for the next available flights into Tokyo.

_“Evening, Rin—need some time on the ice? I thought today was your day off—you know what the trainer said: Spending all your free time training’s gonna wind up doing you more harm than good—”_

“I know what he said, _Dad_ ,” Rin snorted, grinning and rolling his eyes. It’d become something of a running joke between Rin and his coach; it was hard not to get at least a _little_ attached to someone you’d known nearly half your life, after all. Russell and his wife Lori ran a skating school together, with Lori teaching classes to younger kids while Russell worked to coach the older ones looking to start competitive careers. Rin had moved to Sydney at 12 to start training seriously under them, as Russell had been an old rinkmate of Rin’s father’s back in his own skating days. Rin had been the only Japanese kid in their stable, so Lori and Russell had opened their home to him, letting him live under their roof for as long as he’d liked. He’d long since moved out and was living in his own apartment now, but they were the closest thing he had to family on this side of the planet, so old habits died rather hard. “And while I appreciate the offer to enable my destructive tendencies toward overworking myself, I’m actually calling to let you know I’m gonna be out of the country for a couple of weeks.”

 _”Out of the country? Did I miss something on the schedule?”_ There was some rustling of papers as Russell scrambled for his desk calendar. _”Worlds isn’t for another few weeks yet and—”_

“I don’t think I’m gonna make Worlds, actually—I have some…some things to do back in Japan.”

Russell fell quiet for a moment, then softly offered, _”Nothing’s wrong with your mother or anything, is there? If you need any help, you know that Lori and I would be happy to do whatever we can.”_

“Ah—no no, it’s nothing that serious, really.” He frowned, groping for an excuse and wishing he wasn’t flying by the seat of his pants. Nanase had damn well better be worth this. “But it’ll probably cut into the time I’d need to gear up for World’s, and I’d rather sit out the competition than not be able to give it my all, you know?”

Russell sighed into the receiver. _”Hey, I know that Rostelecom stumble hit you hard, but your routine was solid.”_

“…I know that,” Rin grumbled, a tad bitterly, because he _did_. He didn’t put together shitty choreography—it was simply that his programs were so amazing, even _he_ had trouble perfecting them in a season. Something Nanase Haruka clearly had no issue with. “I’m not running away, Russell. Really.”

_”Hm, well it’s your decision—but you’re gonna catch hell from your fans for sitting out Worlds. And I don’t imagine the Japan Skating Federation’s going to be thrilled that their top skater’s not going to give his homeland a showing at the event.”_

“I’m not the only Japanese skater worth anything, and they know it.”

_”Well now, who’s this humble, gracious presence I’m speaking with and what’s he done with my lovable cocky asshole?”_

“Good _bye_. I’ll text when I land—sorry it’s last minute. Let Lori know I’ll be gone for a while?”

 _”Sure, leave me to be the bearer of bad news.”_ Rin pulled the phone away from his ear to disconnect the call. _”Oh—hey! A friend texted me a link to this video from Japan that’s apparently gone viral. Have you heard anything about it? Seems some local skater took your free skate routine from this season and—”_

“Nope, news to me. Bye!”

He dropped his phone on the bed, turning his attention now fully to the flight listings. A cold nose came snuffling at his side, and he reached over absently to scritch Winnie’s ears as he ran his eyes down the list of departures. “Whadya think, hm? Wanna go on a trip?”

* * *

“F-f-f-fuck it’s cold,” Rin muttered under his breath, fingers trembling as he struggled to open the map app on his phone. He was going to get frostbite trying to find Nanase’s home, given that most of the town—Iwamoto? Iwasaki?—hadn’t been properly mapped yet for online browsing. He probably should have invested in a good pair of smartphone gloves before departing Sydney, but the whole trip had been so hastily planned, he’d forgotten that it would no longer be a balmy 30 degrees once he touched down in Tokyo.

Winnie whined at his side, tugging on her leash as she investigated whatever had recently peed on a nearby telephone pole. She’d survived the trip relatively unscathed, but she was clearly eager to get a whiff of anything and everything in sight. “Easy—lemme just find this…” He was just beginning to consider knocking on the next nearest door and _asking_ someone to point out the Nanase house to him, since the town was so tiny, everyone probably knew everyone, when Winnie gave a particularly sharp tug—and jerked her leash from Rin’s grip.

In a flash, she was off and running, and Rin quickly pocketed his phone with a squawk and ran after her, dragging his carry-on behind him. “Dammit—dog—get back—” But she was already taking a corner, racing up a tall stone staircase to Rin’s dismay. He abandoned his carry-on—no way it was going to make it up all those steps; he could come back for it later—and started up two-at-a-time. He was halfway up before his thighs started to burn, but Winnie’s ecstatic yipping kept him going. He might lose sight of her, but he could pick up her bark probably from halfway across town. He was panting hard, legs like jelly, by the time he crawled to the top of the staircase—and Winnie took one look at him, then tore off again, darting into some poor schmuck’s yard to probably tear up the azaleas.

He staggered forward, calling for her to stay—then recalled he hadn’t quite taught her that one successfully yet. “Gonna turn you into jerky you mangy mutt…” he growled under his breath, bracing himself on the wall facing the front yard of a neat little two-story. “Oi, Winnie!” Limping into the yard, he caught sight of her black tail bounding around the side and into the backyard area and gave chase. He would hogtie her after this and throw her into an extra-large suitcase, that way he could just drag her around. If this game of chase wound up letting someone make off with the only luggage he had on him until the rest of his bags arrived the next day, he’d skin her alive. He was definitely going to—

“…Makkou…?” came a confused voice floating around from the rear of the house.

Shit—someone was in the backyard, and they’d seen Winnie. Rin had mustered apologies ready on his lips, jogging past the kitchen door with a swift step and peeking around the side of the house with a penitent expression. “My apologies, sir! She got off the leash and—AH!”

The owner of the house had dropped into a squat to pet Winnie, who sat obediently at his feet and accepted his affections with a wagging tail and bright smile. He glanced up at Rin with a frown—understandable, as Rin was frozen with his mouth gaping in shock and a finger pointed squarely at the man’s face.

“Nanase Haruka!”

Nanase—for it was Nanase, still wearing that same sour, dull expression he’d sported in every shot he’d posed for in magazine and online news articles—gave Rin a calculating once-over. “…Can I help you?” Winnie nudged his hand with a whine, as he’d stopped petting her, and he smiled fondly and massaged her ears. “Is she yours?”

“I…” He frowned; did Nanase not recognize him? “Yeah, she is.” Nanase reached for the end of her leash, offering it to Rin, who awkwardly accepted it for lack of any further response. “Sorry she barged in—but as luck would have it, I was looking for you!” Nanase raised a brow, then turned back to the laundry he’d evidently been in the middle of hanging. Rin rolled his eyes and shifted around to place himself squarely in Nanase’s field of view, a dishcloth hanging between them. “You’re Nanase, right? Nanase Haruka?”

Nanase clipped the cloth to the laundry line. “And you are?”

“Wha—you’ve gotta be kidding me.” Rin thumped his chest. “You’re seriously gonna try and convince me you don’t recognize me?”

Nanase retrieved an apron from the laundry basket, sparing Rin a disdainful glance before returning his focus to his chores. “Are you from NHK? I already paid my bill this month.”

“ _Am I from NH—_ ” He darted forward, grabbing the laundry basket and wresting it from Nanase with a scoff. He could feel his ire building, catalyzed by the bitter memory of Nanase gliding across the ice, back arched in a far gentler curve than Rin could manage and expression abject bliss. “You don’t know the face of the man whose free skate program you stole?” He sniffed. “Rude.”

Nanase shrugged, snatching back the basket with quicker reflexes than Rin had expected. “I didn’t steal anyone’s program.”

“Well you sure as hell didn’t ask my permission! And if you’re gonna try and tell me that was some sort of _homage_ , then let me explain to you what—”

“You think you deserve an homage?”

Rin felt something snap. It wasn’t the things Nanase said—it was the _way_ he said them, like he’d only been casually browsing youtube and stumbled across some bootleg version of Rin’s free skate routine and decided, on a whim, he’d snipe it for himself. Which was bullshit—Nanase had picked him. Had _chosen_ him. And now Rin was here to return the favor. “If I don’t—then why’d you skate my program?” Nanase ignored him, clipping a pair of garish yellow socks to the line. Winne wandered over to the flower bed to give it a closer inspection, leaving them to bicker.

“And I told you—I don’t know who you are.”

“Did you steal programs from _multiple_ world champion skaters?”

“You aren’t a world champion.”

“Ha!” Rin crowed in triumph, clapping his hands. “You _do_ know who I am!” Nanase ignored him, moving further down the line as he hung up the last of the laundry, and Rin reached down for the now-empty basket, settling it at his waist. “So you gonna invite me in or what? It’s the least you could do for embarrassing me in front of the entire planet.”

“Embarrassing you?” Nanase frowned, reaching for the basket, but Rin twirled out of the way, making for the steps leading up from the yard onto the back porch. “Oi—give that—and if you didn’t want someone else showing you up with your own routine, maybe you should have worked on your loop a little harder and made sure you didn’t travel half the rink in that sit-spin.”

“I did _not_ tra—” Nanase used the distraction to retrieve the basket, jostling Rin aside as he scaled the steps onto the porch. “Hey—we’re not through!”

“It’s cold outside. Either come in and shut the door, or see yourself back out onto the street. Make sure your dog doesn’t dig up my flower bed.”

* * *

Either Nanase was a real push-over, or he’d had manners drilled into him by an overzealous relative in his youth that hadn’t left him even in adulthood—for while he clearly had personality issues, he was an impeccable host. Rin was quickly ushered into an out-dated but cozy den while Nanase put a kettle on to boil and scrounged up some cat food for Winnie to nibble on. “You like cats?” Rin had asked, and Nanase had simply shrugged and allowed, “Dogs are fine too.”

Rin let him be while he prepared the tea, muttering a soft thanks under his breath when he returned with a tray laden with two steaming cups of _mugicha_ and a plate of crackers. He was actually starving, not having eaten much on the flight over and been subsequently subsisting on convenience store fare since his arrival, but Nanase’s good will likely only stretched so far, and Rin needed him in as good a mood as he could manage before diving into the thick of the reason he’d trekked halfway across the planet just to meet Nanase.

“So—you live here alone?”

A nod as Nanase nursed his tea contentedly; maybe his prickly personality outside had just been a product of the cold. “My father works overseas, and my mother went to live with him around when I entered high school. They let me stay behind to finish school—I decided against joining them once I started competing.” He wrinkled his nose. “Too annoying to start over someplace else.”

“What do you do, then?” He glanced around the room. “I’m guessing you don’t have rent to pay—but surely you’ve got other bills to cover? And I can’t see you going far in skating since no judge with half a brain is going to let you get away with lifting other people’s choreography and calling it your own—”

“I never said it was _my own_.”

“Mm, because it wasn’t.”

Nanase squared his jaw, setting his cup back down on the tray with what Rin could see was barely restrained ire. “…Is that all you’re here for? To yell at me for stealing your routine?”

Rin snorted. “So you admit you stole it!”

“No—I only took a wasted routine and improved it.” Nanase had his arms crossed over his chest, gaze fixed on the tatami matting beneath their feet—as closed off as he could make himself without physically slamming a door in Rin’s face, and Rin felt the little patience he had left from his long journey wearing dangerously thin.

“Well _admirable_ as your intentions may have been—it’s a dick move, and if the judges at that competition were worth anything, they gave you hell for it. It may not be against the rules—but it shows you’ve got no originality! Forget about embarrassing _me_ —you embarrassed _yourself_ even worse!”

Nanase seemed to mull this over for a moment before relaxing back into his robe of feigned disinterest. “I don’t care about points or rankings or what anyone else things. I saw a routine that struck me, and I wanted to skate it. That’s all there was to it. It doesn’t matter if it’s an original piece or three seasons old—all that matters is how it feels when it moves through me.”

Rin watched him, the words sifting through his mind as Nanase seemed to lose himself to memories for a moment, and frowned as a thought occurred to him. “…Did you ever stea—I mean, have you…ever skated someone else’s routine before? Even just to improve it, like you said.”

Nanase made a face, clearly offended by the suggestion—though not, Rin learned only a beat later, because he disliked being accused of stealing: “Why would I waste time on programs with terrible bones that posed no challenge?”

Rin felt his lips quirk into a leer, peeling back to reveal a grin. “So that means my program had _great_ bones and _did_ challenge you.”

Nanase’s eyebrow twitched, but he didn’t refute the accusation, instead smoothly explaining, “The program, maybe—but its execution left much to be desired.”

“So you just took it upon yourself then, huh?” God, this guy was a grade-A prick, but at least he seemed honest to a fault, even if he liked to bend the truth of the matter to suit his own motivations. 

“I just want to skate beautifully—so any routine that will let me do that…” He frowned at Rin here, perplexed. “…You’re don’t seem very angry.”

“I don’t? Maybe I’m just hiding it well. Or maybe I’m just that nice a guy, willing to forgive an episode of plagiarism or two.”

Nanase wasn’t buying it—suggesting at the very least that he wasn’t as stupid as he seemed in his pictures. “If you’re not here to chew me out for skating your routine, then what _are_ you here for?”

Rin’s grin stretched into a full-faced smile, and he had to take a mental beat to remind himself not to come on too strong; Nanase seemed skittish and likely to throw him out at the first sign of— “To make you my partner! We’re gonna skate pairs together!” Well shit; so much for taking it slow.

Nanase regarded him in silence for a moment, blinking slowly as Rin’s proposition sank in. He then stood and began to clear away their dishes. “No.”

“C’mon, Nanase—you _have_ to.”

Nanase scoffed. “I certainly do not.” He grabbed the tray and made his way back into the kitchen, and Rin was hot on his heels.

“You do! It _has_ to be you!” He scrambled around Nanase, placing himself between Nanase and the counter to force him to look Rin in the eye. “I know it’s sudden, but—” Nanase tried to shoulder past him, so he snapped his hands out to grab him by the shoulders, holding Nanase firmly at arms’ length. “Just—I’ve wanted to skate pairs all my life. My folks did it, and they were _good_ at it. I could be good too—but no one’s ever had the skill to handle my choreography or skate it to my satisfaction.” He released his hold, slow and gentle, in case Nanase decided to bolt. “No one ‘til you.” 

Nanase gave him a moment’s peace, then shoved him aside anyway, and Rin continued his impassioned plea, well aware he was coming dangerously close to begging. “You’re the only one who can do it—who can skate the program that I’ve always dreamed of.” That was the crux of it, really; he could choreograph a program even a novice could complete with him, but he didn’t want a novice—he wanted someone able to nail the best damn routine he could create, and as far as he could tell, there was only one person in the world aside from himself who could do that. “You’re _perfect_ —and now that I’ve got you in my head, I can’t imagine doing this with anyone else.”

“Well get it _out_ of your head. I only skate singles.” He gave Rin a once-over. “We’re hardly a match, besides. We’re the same height and build.”

Rin held his hand up to get a measure. “…You’re actually shorter by a few centimeters, I’d say.” Nanase cut him a sharp warning glare. “But—that’s not the point! I mean sure, there’s probably a dozen skaters out there with body types that I could work more easily with—but _you’re_ the one who can skate my choreography. _You’re_ the one whose form I was drawn to.” He swallowed, forcing himself to breathe and just be _honest_. “I’ve been prepping for this all my life, looking for someone to make a _perfect_ routine for. Someone I could use for inspiration to choreograph a routine to blow people away. I mean hell, I’ve spent the better part of the last two years lining up song candidates and drafting preliminary choreography—”

“Wait—” Nanase perked up here, brows drawn together. “You choreograph your routines yourself?”

Rin gave him a funny look. “Uh, yeah? I didn’t call it _my_ choreography for no reason—whose routine did you _think_ you stole? Something I just ordered off of Amazon?” He crossed his arms over his chest and gave a haughty sniff. “Like hell I was gonna let someone _else_ be in charge of my skating career.” He frowned when Nanase’s expression went a little distant in thought, the defiance melting away to reveal eyes sparkling with realization and curiosity—and then it hit him: he _had_ something on Nanase now. A carrot on that proverbial stick. He tried to keep his grin tempered, well aware that it would only provoke Nanase. “…You said you liked the routine. You meant you liked my choreography.”

Nanase blinked, then hastily turned back to the sink where he’d placed the tea cups, turning on the tap to rinse them. “The choreography was nice, as I said. It was only your execution that was lacking.”

Rin let the slight slide, reminding himself he had more important matters to attend to. “Well then here I am, offering you the chance to skate more of my choreography— _anything_ you want. I’ll draft whatever you like for our short program, if you’re in. Say the word, and I’ll churn out something that’ll knock your socks off. I swear it.” Nanase looked torn, and Rin felt a twinge of sympathy; he must _really_ not like the idea of skating with another person. He tried to sweeten the deal: “I mean, doesn’t it gall you that you’ve gotta steal my routines if you want to skate them? I could give you something that’s yours—yours and _no one else’s_. Well—no one but me. But still, I’d make it _for_ you.”

Nanase grimaced. “…I told you, I only skate—”

Rin held up a finger. “One chance. Just give me once chance to try and convince you? Let me show you some of what I’ve been working on—and if you’re still not convinced…” He sighed, scratching his head. “I guess I’ll have to keep looking.” He’d have to—though he was pretty well convinced it’d be a futile search. It wasn’t every day you got the perfect package: the looks, the grace, the skill. He’d bend over backwards if it meant Nanase would skate with him—though it was starting to look like he might actually have to do just that.

* * *

Iwatobi Skating Club Returns seemed to be a fairly new facility—no chipped paint on the benches, no dents in the lockers, and a bulletin board in the lobby that was covered in flyers advertising skating classes and local or regional competition application deadlines. It was after hours when they arrived, but Nanase pulled out a pair of keys and worked the lock until it gave. Rin laced up while Nanase took care of the rink setup, firing up the lights and dehumidifiers. He’d even offered to sync up a CD if Rin had one on him, but he’d declined. No music this time—the music wasn’t what was important, after all. “Just watch me for now—watch me, and if you’re still not convinced this is something you’ve gotta do, then…I’ll leave you alone. You can pinch my programs to your heart’s content if you feel like it.” His wry smile had then melted into something stonier and serious, as he reminded, “But you’ve gotta give this a chance—a _real_ chance.” It was only fair, after all; he’d flown thousands of kilometers for this, waited his _whole_ life and dealt with skating solo as he searched. If he was only going to have this one chance, he wanted to make sure Nanase had every fiber of his being focused on Rin and Rin alone.

The ice was nice and smooth, no blades having crossed it since its final buffing after the customers and club members had dispersed earlier in the evening. Nanase stepped down into the bench area after he’d finished his final check, and Rin gave him an appraising look before being waved off as Nanase shooed him onto the ice with an annoyed huff.

Rin was tired physically—but mentally, his mind was whirring, running full tilt through the tangle of half-finished prototype routines he’d been working on over the years. He knew elements he wanted to include, had visions of what to jump where or when to execute a lift or throw or when to just mirror, but he couldn’t complete a routine without knowing his partner, without knowing what sort of music would suit them or which emotion to play on with their program. What an audience would believe of them.

He’d grown up the son of a legend—people _still_ talked about his father and the Matsuoka pair’s dazzling but fatally short career. Rin sometimes—more often than he liked to admit—wondered where he might be now had his father’s car not gone skidding into a tree on icy roads one winter. His parents would be long-retired by now, but maybe they would’ve opened their own pairs-specialized skating school. Maybe Rin wouldn’t have felt compelled to find a partner good enough for him, one who’d shine so bright with him that Rin no longer had to stand in his father’s shadow, and he’d be traveling the world as part of a new generation of pairs skaters with any of the dozen or more competent skaters with an affinity for pairs. Or maybe pairs wouldn’t even be this _thing_ he felt he had to do; maybe he’d be a singles-and-singles-only man eager to make a name for himself so he’d stop getting compared with his parents. Maybe he’d be skating father-son exhibitions that drew crowds of thousands.

But he wasn’t doing any of that, and he never would. And he was fine with that, really: he just wanted to do his father proud, to grab Olympic gold like his father had always dreamed of doing but passed too early to so much as attempt. He would be the Matsuoka people thought of when they waxed poetic about the beauty and power of pairs skating, and he’d let everyone know he’d been inspired by his dad. Out on the ice—this was where he felt closest to his father, and he took a deep breath as he stood at center ice and tried to think about how his father might have wooed his mother, showing her his potential in an effort to snare her attention, to leave her aching for more of what he had to offer.

He started a loop around the rink, building up speed with several crossovers and slowly arranging the scattered bits and pieces of potential routines into some semblance of a program in his head. It would be discordant and stuttered, jumping from one random thought to the next, but it would at least be _honest_ , a bare-faced, open-hearted plea for Nanase to just give it a _shot_. To take the same chance any pair skater did when they agreed to step down from singles.

Things would be different, though, with Haru; they had to be. Rin had spent these years training for a smaller, slighter partner, the ones you could lift in the air single-handed and then send flying out into perfect triples. A girl would’ve been easier to work with in most every respect; though the pairs skating rules had always allowed couples of any make-up to compete, same-sex pairs were still a rare sight, as women with the build to be champion skaters rarely had the strength to do lifts and throws, and most male skaters…well, looked like Nanase and Rin. Physically, they were already at a disadvantage, and they hadn’t even stepped out onto the ice together.

But beyond that shitty personality and the issues with their similar builds, Nanase was perfect. Rin hadn’t been trying to butter him up; he doubted Nanase would’ve accepted that. His talent was unquestionable, and in all his years of looking, Rin had yet to find another able to handle the sharp turns and back-breaking flexibility his routines demanded, and if his stamina was already _this_ impressive without serious training, Rin felt a thrill run through him at the idea of what a few months under Rin’s Spartan regimen would bring about. 

Nanase was not the ideal partner, no—but he was still the best Rin could ever hope for. If he had to sacrifice a few throws and a lift or two, if he had to rely more heavily on mirroring and step sequences, so be it. The chance to have someone so dedicated to their craft, so single-minded and laser-focused on the art out there with him would be more than worth any such sacrifice.

When he nearly slipped the landing of an Axel, he gave himself a harsh internal reprimand; he tended to flub his jumps when he wasn’t entirely present for the landing, and all things considered, this was probably the most important routine—charitably called as such—of his life, so he ought to be giving it his full attention before waxing nostalgic about a father dead fifteen years and a future that would never be. Nanase was giving Rin his full attention; he deserved Rin’s full attention on these elements and sequences in return.

He traveled the distant edge of the rink in a spread eagle, refocusing his thoughts, and then picked up speed on the straightaway to lead into a combination culminating in a layback, recalling distantly that Nanase had seemed preoccupied with moves of beauty. Rin could appreciate beauty, certainly—but he preferred the challenge of making hard angles and sharp turns and clean jumps look beautiful to relying on elements already pleasing in and of themselves. 

He cut through the center of the rink on a diagonal, flying hard and fast into a spin that left him with a bit of vertigo since he hadn’t sighted himself properly and stepped out with the wrong foot, cursing silently as he nearly took a fall from overbalancing.

He could feel his desperation bleeding through his display, slow and viscous like some syrupy sludge he hoped to use to trap Nanase. It wouldn’t work— _they_ wouldn’t work—if Nanase didn’t decide to do this on his own, but he couldn’t risk losing him. Not when he’d just _found_ him. If he went back to Sydney now, Rin knew that he’d be screwed. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate on a routine with the specter of what-might-have-been hanging over him, looking as dull and dour as Nanase. It was pairs or nothing for him now—and he couldn’t take _nothing_.

He grit his teeth in a silent vow: If he lost this, it would be because he simply hadn’t been enough to impress Nanase—not because he’d fucked up and given a poor showing. He brushed the hair from his eyes with an angry shove and took the straightaway down, driving back through the center in a series of crossovers and switchbacks that would give any onlooker whiplash, feigning a camel spin entry here before pulling it into a jump—anything to keep Nanase guessing about what was coming next, wondering where Rin’s hastily linked moves would lead. It wasn’t a routine he was proud of, on any level, but he had faith that Nanase would see what he was doing all the same: showing what it looked like when you _cared_.

Nanase said he didn’t care about judges’ opinions and scores and what the world thought of him when he lifted Rin’s choreography whole-cloth and wore it as his own—what _did_ he care about then? Just a clean skate? A challenging program? Rin maybe cared too much—about everything. He’d been critiqued on more than one occasion for putting _too much_ feeling into his programs. That Nanase could take his routines and polish them up simply by removing all emotion and putting in its place more technical elements and intense focus confirmed those criticisms. Rin was man enough he could admit this.

But it also meant Nanase didn’t know that beauty came not just in a perfectly executed quad or the graceful curve of a layback but in the heart you put into a routine, letting the music flow through you and using your body as an instrument to carve those feelings into the ice. There was no music here but that in Rin’s mind, and his blades opened the ice up like a knife through butter, slicing a challenge—a gauntlet, a _come and get me if you can_ that begged a chase, and he kicked up a fine spray of powder on the last toe loop he had energy for, taking care not to over-rotate. Let Nanase see him taxing himself, let him see Rin at the limit of his endurance after two flights and a two-hour train ride but still pushing himself in an effort to show Nanase that he was _worthy_. Let him see how much Rin cared—and let him _try_ to say it didn’t make him care, at least a little, as well.

He ended the loop in a flying spin, feeling the last of his energy spiraling outward into the ether, and he drove his toe pick into the ice to bring himself to a sharp, bone-rattling stop that he only just barely kept from sending him toppling. It had been risky and desperate—but Rin was feeling a little bit of both just now. He held his pose for several long moments, the only sounds in the rink the soft hum of the coolers overhead and the harsh wheezing of Rin’s breath coming in gasping pants. It hadn’t even been half a legitimate program, but he felt dead on his feet, drained and ready for it to be over.

His gaze drifted back to the rinkside where Nanase had taken a seat on the benches—only to find he was alone. The rink was empty—Nanase hadn’t even bothered to stay through to the end of his display, evidently deeming Rin not worth his time before taking his leave. Winnie was sleeping back at Nanase’s place, and Rin distantly wondered if he could find the little two-story situated in the bowels that were the winding backroads of Nanase’s neighborhood on his own. He needed a drink—water and something stronger, both. Slowly, he made his way back over to the bench—

And a head popped up, as Nanase hunched forward to yank at the laces to his skates. His back muscles shook as he hastily laced up, and then he was on his feet, hobbling toward the rink entrance and skating out to meet Rin. His cheeks were flushed from the chill, and he kept his gaze averted—but the way he shifted from skate to skate betrayed the energy building up inside, a banked fire waiting to be channeled into something awesomely destructive, courtesy of Rin’s own deftly planned choreography.

Rin swallowed, feeling a sudden rush of new strength that was probably adrenaline but would do in a pinch. “…Thought you were just gonna watch.”

Nanase sniffed. “…I hate seeing wonderful moves performed sub-par, that’s all.”

Rin rested his hands on his hips, head cocked to one side as he released something between a huff and a laugh. “You know, if you’re gonna be my partner—”

“I never said that,” Nanase was sure to remind him.

“—You’re gonna have to stop with the backhanded compliments.”

Nanase was already off, though, trying to dip into a deeper layback than Rin had managed. “…Show me the lead-up to the entry to that triple toe loop again.”

* * *

The arrival of the night crew reminded Rin how late the hour had grown, and with a sharp whistle to Nanase—halfway toward the other end of the rink as he continued to work on the toe loop with the ice spray—he called it a day. Nanase clung stubbornly to the edge of the rink with a frown as Rin stepped out first, slumping onto the bench to remove his skates. “I’ve nearly got it—and it’s not even 9 yet.”

“First of all, no—you _don’t_ ‘nearly have it’. You keep digging the toe-pick in too sharply and nearly sending yourself sprawling. And second of all, I’m already late to track down the inn I’m supposed to be staying at. Not to mention I’ve first gotta go _back_ to your place to grab Winnie and my bag.”

Nanase seemed to mull this over for a moment, and just when Rin thought he’d finally see the logic in saving their energy for the next day—which would start late if Rin had any say in it, as he hadn’t seen a bed in over twenty-four hours now—he came back with, “Just stay at my place; we can practice longer that way.”

Rin nearly snapped his laces, shooting straight up. “Just— _what_? Stay with you—you mean live in your home? With _you_?” Nanase finally joined him on the bench, casually unlacing his skates. “…You’ve known me all of five minutes. I could be—I dunno, some kind of weirdo. _You_ could be some kind of weirdo!”

“You’re the one who flew here all the way from—where was your home rink again? Perth?”

“Sydney…” Rin released a soft, frustrated hiss. “I can’t stay with you—we might not get along. Taking in a stranger for a roommate’s a terrible idea.”

Nanase just shrugged, toeing out of his left skate with a hiss. “If we don’t get along, then there’s no point in pair skating at all, right? Maybe the issue will work itself out. Besides—if I don’t like you, I’ll just set you up in one of the guest rooms on the other side of the house.”

Rin blinked. “Wait—the guest room is my _punishment_? Where am I gonna sleep in the meantime, then?” Nanase gave no response, simply tugging off his right skate with a relieved sigh. “Nanase??”

* * *

“…I feel like I’m ten years old again. Off on some overnight camping trip with my class.” Rin cocked his head to the side, struggling to make out Nanase in the pitch black next to him and failing. “You ever go on things like that?”

“I thought you said you were tired…”

“I am,” Rin assured him, snuggling closer to Winnie’s warmth; Nanase liked to keep it chilly in his room, but Winnie loved to cuddle and acted like a furry furnace that kept Rin nice and warm. “But I dunno, I can’t go to sleep.”

“Closing your eyes helps.”

Rin rolled over onto his back and crossed his arms behind his head to count the bits of popcorn texturing the ceiling, hoping it might lull him to sleep. “I always had trouble going to sleep on those camping trips too… It’s hard for me to sleep in new locations, like I can’t calm down.” He smiled to himself, then admitted softly. “I guess I’m just really excited…”

There was a beat of silence, and then the creak of springs as Nanase rolled over to face him. “I still haven’t said I’ll do it, you know. Don’t assume.”

“Perish the thought,” Rin snickered, then sighed. “…Thanks for giving it a shot, at least. Guess I can’t ask for more.”

“I don’t doubt you will, though.”

Rin considered pulling his pillow out from under his head to whap Nanase good for that. “You don’t know me.” He’d meant it to tease, but when he said it, a sister thought occurred: “…And I don’t know you.” That wasn’t good. They could work on their choreography and elements all they wanted, polish their routines to perfection, but if they didn’t really _know_ each other, it would be blatantly obvious the moment they stepped on the ice. Maybe, he reasoned, they ought to take a week or so here at the beginning to stay away from the rink altogether and just get to know one another.

“There isn’t much to know. I told you about my situation already—what more do you need to know?”

“It’s not _facts_ I need like your birthday or your favorite food—”

“June 30th. Mackerel.”

“—I need…I dunno. I need to know you. And you need to get to know me. Like your favorite middle school memory, or whether you’re a morning person or a night owl and why. Even simple things—like why you skate.”

Another long beat of silence stretched between them here, and Rin wondered if Nanase had finally tuned him out and drifted off, but then Nanase began, slowly and carefully: “I…I like the solitude the ice offers.”

Ouch, not exactly what a potential pairs partner wanted to hear. “So you’re a loner.”

He could almost hear Nanase shrug. “It’s simple—uncomplicated. I like the forms and rigidity of the programs I skate…I like making them my own, seeing how far I can bend them to fit my vision. Ice isn’t forgiving.” He heard a soft little huff of accomplishment. “I like the challenge. And I like not having anyone else to get in my way.”

“Well I hate to break it to you, but that’s not very conducive to pairs.”

“Hence why I’ve no interest in skating pairs.” Nanase sighed. “I don’t see why you’re so caught up in pairs, even given your father’s legacy. It’s annoying, having to accommodate someone else. Having to bend to their whims, to play off of them. There’s less freedom.”

Rin rolled over onto his side, propping his head up in one hand. “I dunno—I think you’re looking at it from the completely wrong angle. It’s just…” He pursed his lips in thought. “There are some things you’ll never be able to do on the ice without someone else there with you, experiencing _that moment_ right alongside you.”

“Sure. Lifts.”

“Ugh—no, I mean—” He sighed and rolled back over onto his side, digging his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. “It’s—having someone there with you, seeing what you see, feeling the same thrills you feel, right in time with you, like your heartbeats are in _perfect_ sync because they’re not just watching you from the stands or through the television, they’re there, right next to you, living what you live. It’s having someone there to play off of, to challenge you. Someone relying on you, giving you purpose.” He let his hands fall away but kept his eyes closed. “Singles is great—I’ve had fun, sure. But it’s not pairs. And pairs isn’t singles.” He drew Winnie close and gave her ears a few good scratches. “If you really want to experience all the ice has to offer, you’ve gotta open yourself up to seeing what you can with someone else by your side. Even if you think it’s annoying.”

Winnie whined softly and nudged his chin, giving him a perfunctory lick of thanks.

“…And you’re that ‘someone’?” Nanase’s voice was low and even, a carefully measured tone that Rin was learning to recognize meant Nanase was trying to avoid showing interest—and failing.

He smiled to himself, letting his grin go wide because Nanase couldn’t see it and get all shirty about it. “Yup. And you’re _my_ someone.”

* * *

Rin didn’t sleep through the next day as he’d feared he might, but it was well into the afternoon before he finally roused, finding Nanase propped up on the couch with a book and Winnie on the floor by his side. He waved toward the kitchen. “There’s some leftover mackerel curry in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

“Oh—thanks.” Rin felt a bit awkward, having slept for so long when he was a guest in Nanase’s home. He scratched the back of his neck. “Mind if I use your shower?”

“Please do.” Nanase wrinkled his nose, as if Rin’s stench physically repelled him. Asshole. “Down the hall to the left. Towels are in the closet in the changing area.” Rin ducked a nod and shuffled off, with Nanase’s reminder of, “There’s a narrow window between the afternoon and evening classes when the rink’s closed to the general public, so make it snappy,” chasing him out of the room.

As it turned out, “closed to the general public” didn’t mean empty, for once they arrived at Iwatobi Skating Club Returns, they found the rink claimed by a half-dozen other club members already, each having cordoned off their own section of the rink to practice in. It wasn’t crowded by any stretch of the imagination, but it wasn’t the quiet solitude they’d enjoyed the previous evening after-hours. Rin was about to suggest they instead find a table in the members’-only lounge to discuss how to approach their as-yet-hypothetical short and free skating programs, since Nanase seemed to still be maintaining he hadn’t agreed to anything just yet, but when he turned, he found Nanase had disappeared and instead been replaced by a rather familiar-looking man. Familiar, if only because it was hard to forget a haircut like that.

“If someone had told me last week that I’d walk in to see the Skate Canada bronze medalist in my little backwoods club, I’d have slugged ‘em good.”

Rin combed through his mind for the man’s name, certain he’d seen it mentioned alongside Nanase’s in some article or another. “It’s…Sasabe-san, right?” Sasabe nodded, hands shoved into his pockets as he relaxed against the rinkside. “And ‘backwoods club’? I think you’re being more than a little modest, if it’s still this crowded even after ousting the general public.”

Sasabe shrugged with a smile. “I can’t really take credit for it; Haruka may not like the glory or even go out of his way to generate interest, but people can’t help but be drawn to him, so I benefit from him calling this place his home rink.” He sized up Rin appraisingly. “But maybe I don’t need to tell you that? That _is_ why you’re here, right? I saw you come in together—and if you’re wondering where he slipped off to, I nearly ran smack into him racing for the locker room like he had hellhounds on his heels.” He quirked a brow. “Can’t remember the last time I saw him so eager to get changed for some time on the ice, and that’s saying something.” He cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes. “…What _exactly_ are you and he up to? You’re not here to give him grief for that stunt he pulled at the National Sports Festival, are you?” He crossed his arms over his chest and drew himself up tall, apparently trying to intimidate Rin lest he consider bullying his precious skater. “Haruka’s a quirky one, but he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body—he didn’t mean any offense by skating your routine, so if it’s an apology you’re looking for—”

“I’m not,” Rin reassured coolly, amused by the way Sasabe’s feathers ruffled so paternally; it reminded Rin of Russell.

“Not…?”

“Not here for an apology. Not here to get pissed at him.”

“Oh.” A bit of the wind dissipated from Sasabe’s sails, and he frowned. “…So what _are_ you doing here?”

Rin wiggled his brows. “To get him to skate pairs with me.”

“You— _Haruka_? Nanase Haruka? _Pairs_?” He released a sharp bark of laughter that garnered them stares from the skaters out on the ice and made one poor kid faceplant after an attempt at an Axel. “You _have_ met Haruka, right?”

“We’ve gotten acquainted, yeah.” Rin shook his head with a smile. “I know it’s a challenge—but I like challenges.”

“Hell, you must _love_ them if you’re after _him_.” He rubbed the back of his neck in thought, glancing behind them to the hallway leading to the locker rooms. “…Any particular reason you want him? It’s hard enough getting him to agree to enter tournaments in singles, and he _likes_ singles.”

“He’ll like pairs too, once I’m through with him,” Rin returned with forced confidence, because there was no other choice. “And I need someone who can handle the kind of choreography I want to put into a routine. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I can barely skate the routines I create well enough to satisfy myself—yet he did it without batting a lash.”

Sasabe shrugged. “Haruka’s always been one for surprises—at the very least, you’ll get more than you bargained for with him, for better or worse.” He frowned. “Well I don’t suppose you need me sticking my nose in your business; I’ve never really been more than a coach in name with Haruka, and now that you’re here, I’m sure you can handle him well enough on your own.”

Rin felt a rush of mortification, worried he seemed like he was pushing Sasabe aside. “I—didn’t mean to—”

Sasabe waved him off, though. “Nah, it’s fine—use the rink all you like, and let me know if you need anything. I’m happy to be a third set of eyes. Haruka’s always kind of done his own thing, so I’m used to taking a really hands-off approach with him.” He ran a tongue over his lower lip in thought, and after a beat, he added, “…I dunno, maybe you can do more good for him than I’ve been able to.”

The guilt of ‘stealing’ Nanase from his coach continued to gnaw, and Rin, discomfited, tried to cheer Sasabe up. “You seem like you’ve done well enough with him so far—anyone looking at him can see—” But Sasabe was already shaking his head.

“Nah, I don’t really mean it like that—though honestly the most good I did with him as far as training was give him the run of the rink when he wanted. I meant it more like…” He bobbed gently from side to side. “I feel like he’s missing something. Something I’ve never been able to give him. Like—a drive. Or a purpose, I guess. He never really seemed like the competing type—mostly agreed to enter competitions because he’d get the chance to skate in new rinks. Skating’s never been a _have to_ thing, more just a pleasant diversion. It’s something he loves, sure—but it’s like soaking in your tub versus swimming the hundred-meter freestyle at the Olympics. You’ve gotta have a whole different level of dedication to get there—and Haruka doesn’t have that right now. But if he did…” He let out a low whistle.

Rin mulled this over, brows cinching. “…I dunno. I think Nanase’s plenty competitive—he just…maybe doesn’t realize that’s what it is yet.” Nanase clearly didn’t like to be shown up, and by extension _loved_ showing up others. He just liked to do it on his own terms, on his own schedule. He claimed to hate the rigidity of competitions and judges’ scores, yet he took pleasure in routines and rote motions and beats that only he could hear in his head. Rin just had to show him how those things slotted together, how he could have _everything_ he wanted. How Rin could give it to him.

Sasabe was sizing him up again, one brow raised. “…Well then, I wish you all the best of luck.” He slapped Rin on the shoulder, then turned around. “He’s all yours, Haruka.”

Rin perked up, realizing Sasabe wasn’t speaking to him, and turned to follow Sasabe’s eye. Nanase had finished changing into his training gear, and he was tapping one foot in irritation. Sasabe clapped him on the shoulder and left them to their business as he wandered back out into the hall. “You aren’t ready.”

“I was talking to your coach. _Haruka_.”

Nanase jolted, hair nearly standing on end. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? Sasabe-san did.” He looped an arm around Nanase’s neck, which was not nearly as easy now that he was wearing his skates and put Rin at something of a height disadvantage. “You don’t like your name, Haruka?”

“No, I don’t.” He tried to shove Rin away but only managed to nearly bring the both of them toppling down in a pile of limbs and guarded blades.

“But it’s cute! A nice girly name for the Ice Princess~”

“You’re—one to talk about ‘girly names’, _Rin_.”

Rin frowned; he hadn’t liked that at all. “Oi, cut that out.”

“Now who’s sensitive about their name?”

“I’m not _sensitive_ about it—it just sounds weird coming from you.” He shuddered, releasing Nanase and rubbing his arms to ward off the chill of discomfort. “Stick with Matsuoka.”

“Well now I don’t want to; it’s too long and annoying to say.” Nanase crossed his arms over his chest with a nod. “‘Rin’ will do.”

“No it _will not_ —”

Nanase bent to remove the guards from his blades. “Go and get changed, Rin. There’s another skating class coming through at 4.”

“Don’t call me—fine! ‘Nanase’ is too long and annoying to say too, so you’re gonna be ‘Haruka’!”

“That’s the same number of syllables.”

Rin made a fist, wishing Nanase hadn’t already stepped out onto the ice so he could deck him for his cheek. “All right then— _Haru_!”

But Nanase just shrugged, skating lazily backwards until he was out of earshot, clearly unruffled by the threat of a new nickname.

Rin, feeling like he’d lost something in the exchange, stood there watching in defeated silence for several more beats before stomping his way to the locker room.

* * *

In the end, they only had a half hour or so on the ice before the rink was emptied so that the resurfacer could clean the ice before classes started, and they retired subsequently to the rink’s attached cafe to kill time before general skating resumed in the early evening. 

Rin was wasting no time waiting for Nanase—or ‘Haru’, he supposed; no way was he going to let the guy get away with calling him ‘Rin’ so casually without _some_ kind of retribution—to make up his mind as to whether or not he was going to commit to pairs. If he did that, the new skating season would be upon them before Haru _finally_ agreed to sign up under a pairs category. Instead, he’d just bring them to a point where Haru really had no choice but to go along with Rin in the endeavor, making it a waste of time and energy to bail out or dig his heels in and stubbornly insist he only skated singles.

He chewed on the end of his pen, regarding Haru, who was nursing a spiced latte, in thoughtful silence. A season’s theme tended to develop naturally for a skater—it wasn’t often something Rin sat down and really _thought_ about. Likewise, if he and Haru had been on the same page, or at least had some history together, they might be able to brainstorm a theme for what they wanted to show the judges and audience that year. But as it was, Haru was probably more interested in deciding that evening’s menu than this season’s skating theme, and Rin was the only one between them well and truly committed to a pairs showing in the fall—so he’d have to do the thinking for the both of them.

Pairs themes were a bit more complicated than singles skaters’ themes, since they necessarily had to be a subject that _two_ people could reasonably reflect. Themes of love and family were, naturally, quite popular—but no one would ever believe that of them. Then there was friendship and trust, and while Haru wasn’t a _terrible_ guy, he was kind of an asshole and stubborn and several other choice words Rin would not add, so friendship would take a while yet to develop. That left really only one other option, which Rin felt actually fit them fairly well: Rivalry. No one in the skating world would probably call them rivals, but only because Rin and Haru had never shared the ice together. Rin hadn’t been lying when he’d spoken to Sasabe regarding his confidence in Haru’s competitive nature. There was fire there—and irritation, frustration, and above all, a sense of superiority. Rin had that as well himself—in spades—and when Haru made comments like hating to see a good routine wasted on crappy skating, it rankled. Made him want to show Haru he wasn’t as tough shit as he thought he was. 

He slipped a hand into his pocket, palming his phone. He’d turned it off after it’d kept buzzing while they’d been trying to get to sleep the night before, texts and e-mails and tweet notifications from friends and followers all wondering where he’d disappeared to. His absence in Sydney had apparently been noted, and while Russell would likely do his best to keep anyone from prying too closely, Rin didn’t doubt his presence here would soon get leaked to various skating news outlets. People would put two and two together and realize something was _up_ between Nanase Haruka and Matsuoka Rin—and Rin needed something to tell them when that happened.

He scrawled the word _rivalry_ into his notepad and circled it several times, smiling to himself in satisfaction. Rivalry—competitors. Two people pushing each other on and building each other up. Each made better by the other’s presence and standing taller for it. A give and take, a whole greater than the sum of its parts. They could do that—they could _be_ that, and even if they weren’t there quite yet, after barely twenty-four hours together, Rin could visualize it coming together. Come fall, people would believe it of them—because it’d be true.

“What’re you smiling about?” Haru let his cup drop, leaning forward to try and see what Rin had written, and Rin flipped the page.

“Brainstorming. You can see it later.” Haru rolled his eyes and slumped back in his chair, childishly petulant. “So—have you thought of what you want yet?”

“What I want?”

“I told you you could choose our short program—do whatever you want for it. Just hit me with a topic or a song or something I can work off of and I’ll choreograph something to knock your socks off.” Rin raised his brows. “See? I’m not such a bad guy.”

Haru’s gaze went blank and unseeing as he slipped into thought, then his eyes widened in surprise and he slammed his empty coffee cup onto the table, leaning forward and dropping his voice, as if fearful their strategizing might be overheard. “…I want to do a song from my favorite anime.”

“You…want to skate to an _anime_ song?” Rin raised a brow. “Seriously?” Haru nodded, and Rin frowned as he processed the implications. It wasn’t a _terrible_ idea per se; some shows out there had amazing soundtracks, so it was no different from skating to some grand piece from Hans Zimmerman or the like. It’d certainly earn them the favor of the series’ fans as well, which couldn’t hurt them on social media… He nodded. “Okay—I guess I can work with that. What’s the name of the series?”

“ _Loosey-kun and his Deep-sea Comrades_.”

“ _Loosey-kun and_ —what?!”

“ _—His Deep-sea Comrades_.” He reached for the notepad, holding his hand out for the pen. “I’ll write it down for you.”

But Rin snatched it away before he could grab it. “That—that sounds like a kids’ show!” Was Haru even taking this seriously?

“It’s not!” Haru huffed indignantly. “It’s very educational, teaching viewers all about the fascinating creatures that live in deep-sea biomes while also spreading the values of friendship and hard work.”

“Well be that as it may, you can’t seriously expect us to make our pairs debut skating to the soundtrack from a _cartoon_ —” Haru was giving him a hard look. “…Dammit, really?”

“You said I could choose our short program song.” He had the gall to look a bit petulant and pouty here; maybe a kids’ program suited him. “Sasabe-san never let me use the song.”

“Imagine my shock,” Rin muttered under his breath, sighing. He _had_ promised—and Haru had looked awfully excited when he’d brought up the song and the proposition of skating to it. What kind of a choreographer was Rin if he couldn’t craft a winning program for _anything_? It’d just make the challenge all the greater, to try and convince judges to take them seriously. He wiped a hand over his face, finally giving in. “…I’ll listen to it. I’m not making any promises though.”

Haru’s lips twitched a little in what Rin could have sworn was an attempt at a smile, before the grabbed his bag off the floor and began rifling through it, presumably for his music player. Not for the first time, nor for the last, Rin wondered if Haru would be worth it in the end—though he wouldn’t deny it felt pretty fulfilling finally seeing the first glimmer of a lit fire kindling inside the thus far chilly existence that was Nanase Haruka.

* * *

Haru was gorgeous when he skated. 

It was a deceptive beauty, one that slinked in swift and silent and dug in its claws until you couldn’t breathe, all without you realizing it. It was no wonder his fans called him the Ice Prince—both because of his chilly demeanor and how at-home he seemed out on the ice. When he took turns at a speed Rin thought was far too fast to execute cleanly, convinced that the keen edge of his blade would slide instead of slicing and send him sprawling, it was as if the ice rose up to meet him, curving around his blades in a gentle caress to send him on his way. His pivots were sharp enough to cut glass, and when he crouched into spins, rising like a fountain in a blur of black and blue, it was enough to stop your heart—and start it again when he met your gawping gaze.

“Instead of staring, finish lacing up; I’m warmed up and ready.”

Rin huffed, a bit embarrassed to have been caught, and hunched over on the bench to angrily tug his laces tighter. A month now he’d spent most every day stealing what time they could at the rink with Haru, and he _still_ wasn’t used to it. It almost felt like a waste to skate pairs with him instead of watching him demolish singles. Some skaters were only as good as their choreography, but Rin felt like he could sit there watching Haru skate compulsory figures for hours on end and be satisfied.

Life outside the rink with Haru, though… Well, it was life with Haru: indefinable, for better or worse. For someone who claimed so staunchly to want his freedom, he seemed content to live his life in a series of routines, as unflexible and unbending as the ice upon which he skated. Perhaps, Rin supposed, it was less ‘freedom’ that Haru wanted and more simply the freedom to make his routines as he saw fit, living life how he wanted. He had the same morning schedule every day (one Rin had been forced to adopt himself if he didn’t want to piss off his landlord), stuck to the same dishes (always mackerel; Rin was certain there was a vitamin deficiency waiting to rear its ugly head), and could rarely be convinced to step outside of this routine.

Rin had tried to change things up in ways he hoped Haru would be amenable to, setting aside one day a week to spend at a local dance studio run by the quirky but dedicated ‘Amakata’-sensei, but most of his suggestions were met with either outright rejection or were achieved only through intense debate that usually resulted in Rin being told to do it himself if he was so intent on doing something.

Which, Rin had tried at length to explain, defeated the point. For all the time they’d spent togther in the month since Rin had shown up in Haru’s back yard, they still didn’t really know each other. Rin knew facts and figures about Haru, recognized a great many of his frustrating quirks, but basic aspects of Haru as a person—what drove him, what he wanted out of skating, what he wanted out of _life_ remained elusive. 

Rin double-knotted his laces and stepped onto the ice, one arm thrown over his chest as he stretched. “Let’s run the combination again; you’re still losing too much momentum on the single in the chain to complete the triple at the end.”

“I still think a triple combination looks too sloppy there.”

“Are you the choreographer, or am I? If you need me to show it to you again, I’m happy to do it—but I’m not cutting it just because you can’t keep your jumps clean.”

Haru’s expression was a bitter frown, but he clammed up and started to pick up speed along the straightaway like a child stomping away from his parent. Rin smirked as he watched him leave, more amused than he ought to be. It was hard to get really pissed at the guy now that Rin was learning which buttons to push when Haru got mouthy. 

These were their days now: polishing up the tricky elements Haru still had trouble with, hammering out any kinks and making sure they had a solid foundation. Soon, as spring approached, they’d start working on their synchronization, smoothing out their transitions until it was hard to tell where Rin ended and Haru began. Rin set aside a day for strength training each week while Haru went on jogs to build up his stamina, and once they were confident they could handle the easy parts of the programs, then they’d start on the aspects that might trip them up: lifts and throws.

And then—only after each piece was perfect, after each segment had been polished to a flawless sparkle, they’d start stitching them together into a proper program. He could feel a thin thread of resentment underlying each jump and spin and turn they practiced, for Rin had yet to show Haru the full program, short or free, instead focusing their practices on individual elements. He would continue to wait—he’d wait until Haru wanted it, asked for it, desperate and pleading. Curiosity was a powerful motivator with Haru, and Rin would use it for as long as it proved effective.

But while the technical elements were coming together nicely, the glue that held them into the shape of a proper program had yet to set up: _trust_. It was hard to build trust, after all, when there was still so much they didn’t understand about each other. 

“…I thought we already had this conversation,” Haru muttered in the darkness when Rin dared to bring it up as they lay on their respective pallet and mattress, staring up at the ceiling unblinking.

“We had _a_ conversation—of sorts. It doesn’t mean I know you as well as I need to in order to be a proper partner for you—or you for me.”

He was certain Haru was frowning at this. “Now I have to learn things about you? Annoying…”

A month ago, Rin might have used his pillow to whack Haru over the head for that comment, but now he only snorted in bitter amusement, as _annoying_ seemed to be Haru’s go-to description for anything deviating from the routine. Especially things he enjoyed but didn’t want to show.

“Ideally you’d _want_ to learn things about me—but I guess we can’t have everything we want.”

Haru sighed loudly, Rin’s needling guilt finally breaking him, and the mattress creaked as he rolled over to face Rin. “What do you want to know _now_ , then?”

Rin crossed his arms behind his head, scissoring his feet. “Well if you’re gonna take that tone with me, maybe I don’t feel like conversing now.”

“Fine—good ni—”

“Okay okay, geez!” He huffed softly. “You drive a hard bargain, Nanase.” He mulled over the thoughts swirling in a viscous milieu in his mind. “When’d you start skating?”

Next to him, Haru shifted in a gesture Rin assumed must be a shrug. “Don’t remember.”

“Well who taught you?”

Another shrug. “Maybe I took a class. It was a long time ago—it’s fuzzy.” His voice was starting to take on that tight edge that betrayed his irritation, whether with the questioning itself or his inability to recall details, if indeed he wasn’t just playing stupid. Rin let it drop.

“Why didn’t you ever compete seriously?”

“…I told you, I don’t care about—”

“Yeah yeah, I know—just….it seems like such a waste.” He rolled over onto his side, shoving Winnie over where she’d flopped down next to him and was starting to take up most of the pallet. “I kind of wish I’d had the chance to compete against you in singles. I’m pretty sure it would’ve only been good for the both of us.” It never would have happened naturally, he was pretty sure; they wouldn’t have crossed paths at regional tournaments, hailing from different areas of the country, and Haru never showed his face at Nationals nor any of the high-profile international and domestic tournaments. “I mean, I still would’ve won, of course—but it would’ve been a good show.”

Haru lifted up onto his elbows, and Rin could just barely make out the frown on his lips, head backlit by the wan moonlight filtering through the curtains. “How do you know you would’ve won? I skated your program better.”

“Maybe—but that was because you had _my_ program. That _I_ made.” He gave a haughty sniff. “I would’ve smoked you skating anything else.”

“Oi—you’re not the best choreographer in the world. You shouldn’t assume things.” Clearly, Rin’s win being a foregone conclusion grated, and Rin snorted derisively at the attempt at a jab.

“Yeah, cause I’m sure Victor Nikiforov’s gonna haul himself out of retirement _just_ to coach you.” He thumbed his chest lightly. “Sorry buddy, but you’re stuck with me, whether you like it or not. And—” He hauled himself up into a seated position, drawing his legs to his chest and resting his head on his knees. “—it’s my goal to _make_ you like it.”

From this angle, he had a better view of Haru’s features, and his brows knit together in perplexed confusion. “…I’m already doing this with you. What does it matter if I like it or not?”

“You’re only ‘doing this’ because you want my choreography—and also because, no matter how hard you try to deny it, you really do like a good challenge.” Before Haru could protest this, he pressed on. “But I don’t want you to do it because of selfish reasons, because you think I’ll give you something you can’t get anywhere else. I don’t want you to do it because you feel tempted by something pretty or compelled to take advantage of one of my programs crafted just for you. I want you to do it _because you want to do it_.” 

He rolled over onto his knees, crouching beside Haru’s mattress. “I flew halfway around the world for you. I’m giving up my rather respectable singles career for you. There isn’t much of anything I wouldn’t do _for you_.” Haru looked rather discomfited, drawing his knees up to keep distance between them, and Rin drew back, deciding not to press his luck. “I love ice skating, Haru. I _love_ it. All of my greatest memories are linked to it—learning to skate with my dad, my first gold medal, meeting Russell and Lori and Winnie. Finding you. And I want you to love it the way I do. Not just like it—but to really _enjoy_ it. To have fun with it, not because it gives you a chance to be in control and alone, but because it gives you a chance to _lose_ control. With _me_.”

Haru’s gaze went distant with thought here, frown relaxing but the confusion still weighing heavy on his brow. “…That’s what you want, then?”

Rin smiled wryly, giddy shame nearly stilling his tongue. “Well—I could’ve picked anyone to be my partner, if I’d had a mind to. It’s just choreography, anyone could get the hang of it and do what I want them to eventually, with enough practice. Maybe even good enough to medal.” He bit his lip. “But…I wanted _you_.” It had nothing to do with the actual skill involved and _everything_ to do with things just suddenly _clicking_ , until Rin couldn’t imagine himself pushing out onto the ice next to anyone else but Nanase Haruka. He shrugged, well aware of how he was starting to sound just shy of obsessive. “So I want you to want me back.”

Haru was silent for an uncomfortably long time—before he eventually rolled over and placed his back to Rin. “…I’m tired. Go to sleep.”

* * *

After weeks of drills, Haru’s quads were coming along nicely, even his Flip, which Rin still had trouble with himself. Whether or not his comfort with the moves in practice would translate to potential implementation in a solid program remained to be seen, but at least it gave Rin some options. Off the ice, they’d been concentrating of late on leg training, while having Haru do an hour of quad-only sessions at least two to three times a week to build up his stamina and steady his landings. They’d likely rely more heavily on triples and step sequences for the bulk of the programs, but everyone loved a nice, clean quad or three in an already impressive routine, so it was important they have a fat repertoire to choose from when finalizing the elements. 

“Come on, Nanase—you were nailing your landings just fine yesterday, and today you’re all over the place.” Rin crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head dramatically while Haru hunched over, hands on his knees, and tried to steady his ragged breathing. “That last one was even in the routine of mine you stole—you executed it perfectly barely two months ago, and now you’re spending more time on your ass than on your blades!” He was mostly teasing, knowing his needling would rile Haru up. 

“If you’ll recall,” Haru huffed with venom in his voice, “I had months to practice it before I performed it in front of an audience, and I’m not used to having so many quads in my programs. They’re annoy—”

“Annoying or not, we’re gonna do some, and you’re gonna land them cleanly, even if we have to start _living_ here. I landed my first quad at 15 and have included at least one in every program I’ve skated since.” He cocked his head to the side and raised one brow. “You gonna drag your heels behind me?”

Haru’s gaze went cool, a glimmer of fire flashing deep within, and he straightened, though not without wobbling for a moment on his blades. “Just so we’re clear: I landed _my_ first quad at 14.” And before Rin could sputter any sort of comeback to that, he pushed off to take his place again for another attempt.

Rin started when he heard a snort from behind, twisting to glance over his shoulder as Sasabe drew up beside him, leaning on the railing. “When do you think he’s gonna figure out that _you_ already _do_ practically live here? Hasn’t he asked where you got the extra key yet?”

Rin shrugged. “You think he’d ever show his curiosity even if he did wonder? God forbid anyone think he’s interested in something.”

Sasabe nodded sympathetically. “It’s cause he knows as soon as he lets on that he likes something, there’ll be someone to swoop in and take advantage of it, use it to goad him into doing other things he might _not_ like. Most people would learn to just say no, and of course Haruka’s not one to hold his tongue—but the attention in and of itself seems to grate.”

Rin supposed he could understand that, if not sympathize himself. He’d already, guiltily, been using Haru’s curiosity about their short and free skate programs to keep him leaning toward committing to the whole venture, after all. But Rin didn’t think he could be blamed; he’d been preparing for this moment his whole life—what could Haru, and amateur in every sense of the word, understand about that kind of drive and dedication?

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think he’ll be pleased when you finally share with him what you’ve been kicking around those mornings you spend here.”

“You think?” Sometimes Rin wondered.

“Sure—I swear I don’t get done with half my morning chores here some days when I get distracted watching you polishing some of those FS moves. Though I’ve gotta confess…” He shook his head with a bemused grin. “I’m still not sure about the short program.”

Rin’s expectant expression faltered. “You—don’t think it’ll go down well?”

“Oh—no, no, I mean the elements for a great program are all there, it’s just…” He shrugged. “I dunno. It seems a little silly. Though sometimes silly can work for the judges, if you really commit. I’ve seen some crazy-ass routines in my day, that’s for sure.” He raked his eyes over Rin, biting back a smile. “Just funny to think that Matsuoka Rin, who’s built his entire skating career around power and grace, is gonna be making his pairs debut to _Welcome to the Mesopelagic Zone_.

Feeling concern threatening to well up again, just when he’d gotten any anxiety regarding the music choice under control, Rin felt compelled to defend himself: “I mean—I _promised_ Haru, so I didn’t exactly have any choice in the matter unless I wanted to screw up any burgeoning trust, and it’s really not _that_ bad if you ignore where it comes from, plus—”

Sasabe had his hands up, though. “Hey, easy—I just thought it was unexpected is all. If anyone can make that thing sing, it’s you—and I say that as only your _second_ biggest fan in the rink today.” He nodded to Haru, who’d just under-rotated another Toe Loop and clearly knew it from the expression on his face. “Between you and me, I think he still would’ve taken you up on your invitation eventually even _without_ you sweetening the deal like you did.”

Rin frowned. “…I don’t follow.” Haru had dug his heels in the whole damn way and _still_ refused to outright admit in no uncertain terms that _yes_ he was going to be Rin’s pairs partner come fall. 

“Well—he’s always had a _thing_ for your material. Skates bits of your previous programs the same way others skate composite figures. He’s even got your music memorized and everything, playing it in his head I suppose. I’d say he’s your biggest fan…” He gave a little perplexed grin, as if reminded anew of Haru’s quirky nature. “But I don’t think he even realizes it himself. It’s just that something about you clicks with him.” He huffed fondly. “I probably shouldn’t be saying this, as his coach, but: I’m actually kinda glad he stole that program of yours—since it brought you two together.” He drew away from the rinkside, popping the collar on his jacket as he turned on his heel. “You two’re gonna do great things together, I think. Don’t disappoint me; I’m excited to see what you’ve got.”

Rin let Sasabe’s revelation sink in; he probably shouldn’t have been surprised—after all, it really only confirmed what Haru himself had said: that he liked Rin’s choreography. But somehow it felt _different_ , because when Haru was cagey about something or tried to put up a front like he’d been doing, feigning ignorance and disinterest, it generally meant he _really_ liked something. And that felt a hell of a lot more genuine, paradoxically, than any words of fawning or adoration he’d heard in his career. 

“What’re you smiling about?”

Rin didn’t even pretend he hadn’t been doing just that—though he was certain ‘smiling’ was an understatement, for this grin felt downright goofy—and reached down to pull the guards off his blades as Haru drew to a stop before him a few steps from the rinkside, hands on his hips as he waited impatiently.

“Nothing. Just thinking about what a little shit you were, pretending like you didn’t know who I was when I showed up.” Haru’s expression grew guarded, like a cornered animal, and Rin hopped out onto the ice, sliding closer with his hands shoved casually in the pockets of his windbreaker. “The way _I_ hear it, you’re my biggest fan.”

Haru’s lip curled. “You sound ridiculous, you realize.”

“Probably have pictures of me plastered on your walls! This whole act—” He waved a hand in Haru’s direction, “—is just you being all _tsundere_ at finally meeting your idol. Ah yes, I see, I see!” He nodded sagely, slipping out of the way when Haru made a grab for him to knock him to the ice. “You should’ve just said so earlier! I would’ve offered you an autograph! Or a commemorative photo, even!” He leered, enjoying the way Haru was nearly going _purple_ with rage. “Playing coy’s only cute for so long, though.”

“I told you from the beginning that I liked your choreography—”

“And now I know that’s bullshit.” He slapped a hand to his chest. “I know what obsession looks like. I know what it looks like to see something, to want it so bad it becomes an unconscious longing. So you’re not gonna pull that on me again.” He drew himself up straight. All this time, he’d been trying to think of how to get Haru excited about something, wracking his mind how to draw it out—but now he knew _it was already there_ , had been there the whole time, lurking just under the surface. Now all he had to do was coax it out, polish it up, and show the world what Nanase Haruka unbound and joyous looked like. What he looked like when he really _let_ himself enjoy something. He jerked his head toward the rinkside. “Off the ice. Go on.”

“What?” Haru actually skated backward a bit, as if frightened Rin was going to physically remove him himself if he didn’t go willingly.

Rin just made a shooing motion. “Get off the ice. Go sit on the bench. I want to show you something.”

He’d dawdled long enough, worrying himself sick that if he didn’t make something _perfect_ for Haru, he’d wind up twiddling his thumbs on the bench alone in fall. But that wasn’t going to happen, because Haru wasn’t going to let him just walk away now. They had their hooks too deep in one another, so instead of each trying to pull the other in the direction he wanted to go, it was time for them to start working as a pair, in every sense. 

Haru frowned, still suspicious, but finally complied with Rin’s request and stomped over to the bench, slumping down and looking very put-out about the situation. 

He flashed a signal to Sasabe, who’d taken his seat in the crow’s nest overlooking the rink, and waited for _Welcome to the Mesopelagic Zone_ to queue up. If he wanted Haru to get excited, he had to give him something to get excited _about_ , something that would rouse him so deeply, he couldn’t help but show it. 

His body slipped into muscle memory as the opening notes of the song echoed around the empty rink, and Rin forced himself to choke down the goofy, childish context of the soundtrack and instead just imagine it for what it was: their short program theme, something they’d take and show the world _’This is how great pairs can be’_. This wasn’t about grace and power, but _fun_ —something Haru (nor anyone else) had never seen in Rin’s choreography before, he reckoned, and so something that might shock and thrill. And that was the point, wasn’t it?

Giving himself over to the swells and crests of the song, he gave his spins more flash and his jumps just enough flourish to keep him from rolling an ankle or over-rotating. He imagined himself as Haru, not as bulky up top nor with the same height but still with as much power and grace, and he saw their routine as it ought to be. He saw Haru as free as he liked to think he was on the ice, cutting through the routine with knife-like precision alongside Rin with an expression not of concentration or focus or even a mask of indifference—but pure, unbridled _joy_. It was a dance—not a competition. Just two people playing off of one another and pushing each other to new heights because they _could_ , because they _wanted_ to. 

He crouched into the final sit-spin, rising as the music swelled and then cutting himself short right as the final note pealed. Momentarily disoriented, he quickly relaxed from his pose and searched the rinkside for Haru—finding him crouched on the bench, shoulders hunched and cheeks flush with excitement. Unbidden, his lips stretched into a grin, and then he was skating over as quickly as he could manage, trying to shake the feeling he was making for the Kiss-and-Cry after a particularly impressive performance.

He tried to keep his voice even, going for casual indifference, as if he wasn’t feeling the same sense of excited nervousness it seemed Haru was dealing with for the first time. “Told you I could make a routine out of anything.” Haru had nothing to say to this, clearly still trying to find his tongue, and as he drew near, Rin noticed Haru was clutching a spiral-bound notebook with one hand, with a pencil in the other. “What’s that?”

Haru glanced down, looking at the notebook in obvious confusion, like he hadn’t even realized he held it in his hands. “Oh—just. Sketches. I was paying attention, but I couldn’t help…” He actually let Rin take the notebook without protest, and Rin frowned appraisingly at the sketches contained therein.

It was him—or well, crude rough sketches of someone he took to be himself, because there was the double Lutz combination he’d executed in the first half of the program, and then that was the layback he’d been determined to work into their sequence because hey, who didn’t love a good layback? 

But it wasn’t just sketches of his _body_ —he was costumed. Or at least had been clothed in the beginning drafts of a costume, with quick sketches of ideas for neckline details and hem lengths scribbled in the corners. He held the sketchbook up. “You did these?” He glanced down again, tracing the outline of one of the figures. “You’re a designer?”

“No,” Haru bit out, then seemed to remember himself and added a bit more gently, “…Not really. I just sketched what came to me while I was watching you, that’s all.”

Rin grinned. “But—these are great! I really like this—this thing here.” He pointed to the neckline. “It looks like scales. That’s what you were going for, right? Seems a little on-the-nose, but hell, this whole routine’s pretty out there, so we may as well go for it. Go big or go home, right?” A thought hit him here, and he nearly threw himself over the barrier trying to shove the sketchbook back into Haru’s hands. “Hey, can you do ones for the FS too? Wait, I’ll—” He waved his arms for Sasabe’s attention, motioning for him to skip to the next track, then turned back to Haru. “Just sit tight, I’ll show you what I’ve got for the free program, and you just—I dunno, do your thing!”

He charged back out to center ice, feeling nerves and excitement clawing for attention at once. This would be the first time he’d shown Haru their free skate program in its entirety (or as complete as it could be with one person skating), and while he’d wanted to wait until it was perfect, he was beginning to realize it could never _be_ perfect if Haru wasn’t involved. So time to bring in his partner and make him exactly that: a _partner_.

If their short program was all about fun and all lack of care and concern of being judged, then their free skate would be there to follow up and remind viewers that they were every bit as powerful and fierce and forces to be reckoned with together than they were apart. It left no doubts that this was where they were _meant_ to be, a polished, clean program that was greater than the sum of its parts. The music was two distinct melodies, a call and response, weaving together as warp and weft to make a dazzling tapestry that could blind of you looked too closely. Rin skated only his part, necessarily leaving the routine feeling a bit off-balance, but he trusted that Haru would recognize where he would be expected to shore up the program, providing his own jumps and step sequences. He’d know that here, they’d do one of their few lifts, and that there they’d struggle for the next three or four months to execute a throw without wrenching something. Just as Rin had been able to see the bones of something greater in those sloppy sketches, he knew that Haru would be able to look at this unfinished program and see how _amazing_ it could be.

When he struck his final pose, breathing heavily and head thrown back, he imagined he could hear applause, but realized it was likely just the ventilation system humming along as usual. No, no one was applauding, because they were alone—and Haru wasn’t even looking at him, not really. He was _facing_ Rin, but his expression was dazed and distant, the beginnings of a frown furrowing his brow. Rin skated over, glancing down to see that the sketchpad was blank and the pencil had dropped to the ground—and he felt a tremor of fear ripple through him.

He brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, forcing a nervous grin and asking, “…That bad, huh?”

Haru swallowed thickly, still staring out at the ice with unseeing eyes. “…I get to skate that?”

Rin tried to follow his gaze, then glanced back uneasily. “…Well, _we_ get to skate it, I guess…” It was _their_ routine, not Rin’s—and if Haru felt something wasn’t right or needed changing before he’d commit in full, then Rin would have to learn to compromise. 

Haru stood, fingers gripping the rinkside with white-knuckled desperation and breath coming in staggered, heavy pants, and Rin reached out unthinkingly to steady him. “O—oi, you okay? Haru…?” He nodded, head bobbing uncertainly on his neck.

“I just—I didn’t know it could be like that…”

“Didn’t know—?” Rin was having a hard time following, and Haru was speaking rather more cryptically than usual. “What—the routine?”

“Pairs…” Haru brought a hand to his chest, fingers clenching in the material of his pullover. “It…it hurt.”

Rin straightened, worry lancing through him. “What do you mean it _hurt_?”

Haru just shook his head, biting his lip. “It felt wrong.”

Oh shit. Rin had screwed something up—something _bad_. As thrilled as Haru had been with their short program, he’d clearly not been impressed with their free skate, and Rin would have to scrap a program _years_ in the making and piece through the _Loosey-kun_ soundtrack again if he wanted to keep Haru on. “I—just, I figured our free skate should be something _different_ , and I know you prefer the short routine, but—” But Haru was shaking his head in irritation, slapping the railing.

“No—no! Just, it _hurt_ …watching you skate alone. Everything felt _wrong_.”

Rin released a sigh, realizing now what it was that was troubling Haru. He tried to force another easy smile, wondering how Haru might react to a comforting shoulder grab. “Well—of _course_ it seemed off. It’s because I only skated _my_ part. It’ll look completely different once we weave you into it. All the jumps and scattered bits of elements we’ve been practicing are _part_ of the routine. Plus I only did the simple version; no lifts or throws or anything tougher than a triple.” He snorted, more bemused than anything. “Is that all?”

“All?” Haru’s gaze snapped over to meet Rin’s, cold as an arctic gale and sharp enough to slice ice. “That’s _everything_.” He pursed his lips, squeezing so tight they formed a white line against his pale skin. “…Don’t skate it without me again. Don’t come here and practice alone anymore like you have. Not the short program. Not the free skate.” Somewhere in his demands, he stumbled, and his eyeline slipped to the side, unable to meet Rin’s for a prolonged period of time evidently. “…I don’t want you skating something imperfect. It’s not right.” He took a breath. “Your choreography deserves our all.” And before Rin could recover from the onslaught of unexpected emotion, Haru slapped his own cheeks, leaving them red and raw, and then hobbled for the rink entrance, sliding past Rin without a glance back and rolling up his sleeves as he made for center ice. “Reset the tracks.”

* * *

In the blink of an eye, spring waxed into the rainy season, which was refreshing but all too short-lived, and before they knew it, the sweltering heat of summer had draped itself over the whole of Japan, situating Iwatobi right squarely in its ass crack. Skating became less about practice and more about being able to escape the heat, as Haru’s home was poorly ventilated and lacked much more than a few floor fans as a cooling system. Rin had nearly convinced himself Haru didn’t care and was just somehow immune to the heat, until he realized that the long baths he took weren’t about cleanliness or even the privacy to jerk off but simply the freedom to soak in chilled water liable to give him hypothermia if Rin didn’t bang on the door at regular intervals to remind him that sudden changes in body temperature weren’t good for the health.

Predictably, attendance at the rink rose with the thermometer dial, and it became more and more difficult to secure blocks of free time to practice. They spent more evenings at the gym and Amakata-sensei’s dance studio, but eventually they found the heat sapping their strength to the point that even Rin, driven and focused as he was on a spectacular pairs debut, couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to convince Haru to join him for morning jogs or cardio days.

So he stopped trying altogether and instead decided to approach from a different tack.

“Come on, Haru—I haven’t been to a festival in years! I’ve been living in Sydney going on ten years now!” He waved the flyer in Haru’s face, jerking it back when Haru reached up to bat it away while he continued kneading a concoction of minced fish and vegetables for a seafood meatloaf.

“Then go. Enjoy yourself.”

“I plan on it! But you’re coming with me! I’ve only lived here for a few months; there’s still lots I don’t know about your town!” It was bullshit of the highest quality; he knew all of their neighbors by family name if not given by now, and everyone he met on their morning jogs greeted him with a hearty _Morning, Rin-chan!_ It was nice, he would admit to himself, living someplace so quaint and cozy after the metropolitan madness that was Sydney; even when he’d lived in Japan, he’d never lived anywhere with a population smaller than several hundred thousand. “Come _on_ ,” he wheedled, sliding around to place his back against the counter and leaning into Haru’s field of vision. “You don’t want me to go alone, right? Didn’t you say so?”

“I said I didn’t want you practicing or training alone; this is neither of those things.”

“Hey, resting and relaxing is part of training! And it’ll be another opportunity to get to know you better. I’ve never seen you with your hair down.” Haru lifted a hand to touch his hair to test its length—before realizing at the last minute his fingers were covered in fish guts, and Rin laughed. “It’s a figure of speech.” He kicked Haru lightly. “They’ll probably have something grilled and made of mackerel—your favorite? I’ll treat you.”

“It’s a _squid_ festival,” Haru reminded, though he’d visibly perked up at the offer all the same.

Rin rolled his eyes. “Then you can complain that anything I treat you to isn’t as good as mackerel and I _promise_ not to offer commentary.” He lifted his brows hopefully, sensing Haru’s resolve crumbling. “If we’ve gotta be hot and sticky, we may as well be having fun while we’re hot and sticky, right?”

Haru pursed his lips, then sighed. “…Whatever. Tomorrow’s the last night of the festival anyway, we may as well.”

“Yessss!” Rin clapped and started to pace the small kitchen, letting Haru get back to his loaf-making. “Oh—hey, you got any old yukata I can borrow, in that case?”

As it happened, Haru had several yukata to spare, and he let Rin rifle through his wardrobe while looking on boredly. Unfortunately, however, Haru was several centimeters shorter than Rin and much less broad about the chest, so even his largest yukata rode up uncomfortably high and showed a bit more bare chest than Rin felt was appropriate. It was all Haru had to spare on short notice, though, so Rin decided he’d just nip and tuck wherever he could and keep his arms crossed when young children walked by. “You look like a yakuza boss that way, though,” was Haru’s unnecessary comment, and Rin responded with a silent middle finger. 

Even with so much skin showing, it was still hot as hell, and as it was the final evening of the festival, the park space was even more crowded than usual, people packed in so tight it made one dizzy to wade through the crush of humanity. There were traditional games being offered in the hastily erected stalls—along with some less-than-traditional ones, like a squid-grabbing game whose sole purpose seemed to be to embarrass the participants. He steered Haru quickly away before any challenges were thrown down and instead tried for a goldfish scooping game, only to lose spectacularly. Haru, perhaps taking pity on Rin losing face, treated them to skewers of yakitori and two chilled cans of beer—which he suspected was for Rin’s benefit alone, given the face Haru made as he choked down his beer.

A soft female voice crackled over hidden loudspeakers to remind festival-goers that the fireworks show would start in ten minutes, and all around them the crowds began to disperse as families and couples tried to secure spots on the open lawn from which to watch the lights in comfort. Haru directed them to a low wall bordering an old temple, so they settled down and waited for the show to begin.

Rin let his gaze travel around the plaza, smiling fondly at the sight. The last festival like this he could remember attending had been with his mother and younger sister—thinking back, he would’ve been less than half his age now, over ten years ago. Still, time hadn’t changed the experience much in his memory. There was more booze, and there had definitely not been any squid-grabbing as far as he recalled—but other than that, not all that different.

“I guess you’re not much of a festival-going guy, huh?”

Haru shrugged, eyes scanning the skits. “I used to come when I was younger—with a childhood friend.”

“So you _can_ make friends without stealing their work!” It spoke to how the past several months had mellowed the both of them that the comment held little bite—and that Haru didn’t rise to the bait. Rin cocked his head. “Where’s this friend now?”

Haru frowned. “…He moved to Tokyo after high school. We don’t talk that much anymore.”

“Oh…” Rin’s expression fell, sensing he’d stepped into a conversation Haru didn’t want to have. “Sorry.”

Haru just shrugged, pulling the mask of indifference back on. “Nothing to be sorry about. It’s what he wanted. To get out and see places outside of here, to do something that made a difference. So he’s doing it. I’m happy for him.” He didn’t sound very happy, but then, Haru rarely showed such overt emotion. He rolled his half-empty beer can between his palms. “I don’t mind being stuck here.”

Rin let a wry smile worm its way onto his lips. “If you didn’t mind, you wouldn’t call it being ‘stuck’.” He glanced down at his toes, sending a pebble flying as he scuffed the toe of his sandal into the gravel. “And I don’t think you’re stuck; you’re doing okay for yourself.”

Haru turned to look at him, and Rin could feel his gaze falling suspicious across Rin’s shoulders. “Didn’t you tell me I’m wasting my talent?”

Rin sighed, supposing they were going to have this conversation whether they wanted to or not. “I mean—I guess if you’re _happy_ , then it doesn’t matter what I think, does it? But if you’re asking me, then: yeah. I do think it’s a waste. Not—staying here, necessarily. Just…not ever _leaving_. Not ever _wanting_ to leave.” He knocked back the rest of his beer, wondering how crass it would seem to ask Haru for the rest of his if he wasn’t going to finish it. “Traveling’s not for everyone, of course. But I like to think even _you’ve_ got a little sense of adventure knocking around in there.” He poked Haru’s chest. “You’ve got more talent in your right big toe than some of the skaters I’ve seen at local tournaments back in Sydney. You’re like—this _thing_ I’ve been looking for all my life and…and never knew I was missing.” Hm, maybe more beer was not a good idea after all. He leaned back, praying for a breeze to bring swift relief, as he felt hotter than he had wandering around. “I’m mostly disappointed it took me this long to find you.”

“Disappointed…?”

“Sure! Just think of where we could be right now if we’d met at 12, or even 17. Early twenties is a hell of a time to try to kickstart a pairs career, but if we’d met earlier…” He shook his head. “We’d be _legends_.”

Haru glanced down at his beer, swirling its contents in thought. “And…that’s what you want to be? To go to the Olympics, to become legendary?”

Rin grinned to himself, feeling suddenly shy at having his dreams spelled out so frankly. “I mean, I won’t lie and say it doesn’t sound awesome. The glory and accolades. But…” He made himself meet Haru’s eye, because he didn’t want there to be any confusion between them. They needed to be on the same page regarding what this was all _about_. “Really, I just want to skate with you. I’ve always wanted to skate with you—I just never knew it was _you_ I wanted to skate with. Winning gold at the Olympics? Sure, it’ll be fantastic—but it’ll just mean that everyone else finally sees what I already do.”

Soft muzak began to echo over the hidden loudspeakers as an announcement heralded the close of the festival and the start of the fireworks display. “…Sees what?”

Rin set his beer can to the side and drew his knees to his chest, balancing on the low wall and trying to keep Haru’s yukata from riding up too indecently. He settled his chin on his knees and watched a bright blazing line of blue shoot up into the stratus with a screeching wail. “A sight they’ve never seen before.”

* * *

It was three weeks out from the Chuu-Shikoku-Kyuushuu Tournament where he and Haru were set to make their pairs debut, and Rin felt, with the weight of an iron pit in his stomach, that they’d hit a wall. Their routines were coming along quite nicely, and even the lifts were nearly there (or as _there_ as they were going to get). The mandatory throw was going to prove something of a stumbling block, but Rin was prepared to keep working on it night and day until they could at least manage something that wouldn’t embarrass the both of them if called to do so—and Haru would probably insist on the same.

No, it wasn’t anything to do with the training itself that was proving insurmountable. It was simply that they had finally reached a point where they couldn’t progress any further on their own. They couldn’t look at their work objectively enough to critique themselves, and while Sasabe was happy to offer his thoughts now and then, he too seemed uncomfortable criticizing them too sharply given his professed lack of coaching experience. “I’m really more of an instructor, so I wouldn’t rely that much on my opinion—especially anything to do with pairs.”

Rin might have been able to help refine a pairs routine himself, but when it was his _own_ routine, he found himself too close to the matter to give an unbiased eye to the program, and Haru was hopeless, caring less about the finer points of the elements than whether or not it looked beautiful and felt good to skate. They needed a _real_ coach—someone with a fresh eye who understood what they were going for and would be able to smooth the rough edges of their program in these final few weeks. Someone who knew just how desperate Rin was to make this work, how long he’d been waiting for this moment, and wouldn’t hold back.

So he packed a bag and told Haru to do the same while he booked two seats on the next flight out.

Haru just stared at Rin’s carry-on blankly, hair still rumpled with sleep and gaze unfocused. “…Where are we going?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Rin grinned, mashing his finger over the _PURCHASE_ button. “Australia!”

Haru, predictably, took a bit more convincing before Rin finally had him out the door and bundled into a taxi, with Winnie entrusted to the care of neighbors, and far, _far_ too many hours later (Rin definitely didn’t remember it taking that long to get _to_ Japan from Sydney; how did it seem to take even longer going back?), they were stumbling sleep-deprived onto the jetway heading for Immigration.

Russell and Lori were waiting for them in the Arrivals lounge, and Rin waved them over when they drew near enough, quickly finding himself wrapped into a fierce hug by Lori, who was delivering a sound upbraiding along the lines of _just disappearing like that without a word! Ought to be ashamed of yourself…_ into his shoulder. He returned the embrace before quickly extricating himself from her grip to introduce Haru, who was standing a few steps back and looking very out-of-place. Understandable, since as Rin had learned on the flight over, he had barely an elementary level understanding of English.

“Who’s this, then?” Russell prompted, drawing Lori back to give Rin and Haru breathing room. “You were awfully cagey in your texts—trying to keep us in suspense?”

Rin flashed a toothy grin, grabbing Haru by the shoulder and ignoring the little jolt of shock he received in response. “Lori, Russell—this is Haru. Learn his name, recognize his face—cause it’s gonna be plastered alongside mine when we take gold at every pairs competition from here to the next Winter Olympics!”

“Haru—wait, _Nanase Haruka_?” Russell repeated, brows lifted as he reached for Haru’s hand to shake it without waiting for it to be offered. Haru numbly let himself be swept up into the greeting, too dazed and overwhelmed to protest. “That’s not the same one that—well, you know? With your free skate and all?”

Rin looped an arm through Haru’s guiding him toward the exit as Lori and Russell flanked them on either side. He shrugged in a _what can you do?_ gesture. “Hey, it’s hard finding people who can skate my choreography the way I like. I can’t exactly be picky!”

Rin had given up his apartment after moving to Japan, so Lori had insisted that he and Haru stay at their place during their visit. “We’ve got your old room just the way you left it!” she reminded proudly, as if he hadn’t noticed they’d never done much with it in the years since he’d moved out when he poked his head in for weekly dinners. It was a bit cramped for two grown men, but Haru didn’t seem to mind, or perhaps he was just saving up all of his complaining for when he recovered his bearings. He kept quiet all through dinner, only offering short, monosyllabic responses to the questions Rin translated for him. Rin might have worried he was frightened or nervous, that he’d be too overwhelmed to perform when called on to do so, but Haru’s eyes sparkled as he glanced around, taking everything in and silently storing it for later recall. 

“It’s a lot,” Haru explained the first evening as they lay in Rin’s room, buried under blankets to ward off the chill of the Australian winter. He added petulantly, “…It doesn’t help that I can’t understand anything.”

Rin just snorted, arms crossed behind his head and staring up at a long-familiar ceiling. After months of counting the pebbles in Haru’s popcorn ceiling, it was kind of nice to be back in friendly waters. “Well we’ll just have to practice, then. English is what the world speaks when there’s no other language to fall back on.”

“You can always translate for me.”

“Oh hell no—and I swear, if you make me do that, I _will_ purposefully mistranslate your responses to reporters’ questions.”

“Then I won’t answer any questions.”

“Everyone will think you’re an asshole, then.” He chuckled softly to himself. “They wouldn’t be too far off with that, though, I guess.”

There was a long, silent pause. “…Why are we here?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you bring me here…”

“Because—we need someone else to look at us, give us some critique.”

“We could have hired a coach in Japan, then. We didn’t have to come to the other side of the planet where we can’t understand anyone and it’s cold when it ought to be hot.”

“Speak for yourself—I can communicate just fine.”

“ _Rin_.”

Rin sighed, rolling over onto his side—only to find Haru was already facing him with an insistent frown on his features. “…I trust Russell. He knows what he’s doing. He knows _me_. And soon he’s gonna know _us_.” Haru clearly didn’t look convinced, and Rin pressed, “…Just trust me, okay? Once he sees us, once he sees our routines, he’s gonna be able to pinpoint exactly what we still need to work on and tell us what the judges are going to nail us on.”

“I don’t care about—”

“I—geez, I know. I _know_ you don’t. But I do, okay? I know you’re not as into this as I am—I know you’re only doing this for the chance to skate my choreography. So just humor me, all right?” He flopped back down onto his back, chest tight with frustration. It wasn’t as if he’d forgotten that his and Haru’s approaches to skating were as different as night and day; he just hated constantly being _reminded_ of it. He liked living, if only for heartbeats and breathholds, in a fantasy where Haru was just as dedicated to their skate as Rin was, where he ached just as much for glory and acknowledgment as Rin did. He hadn’t demanded Haru commit to their pairs future, not once in nearly seven months now—so couldn’t Haru just cut him some slack and not bring up how he didn’t give a shit about scores and judges every five minutes? “…I’m tired.” He announced, rolling over—this time to place his back to Haru. “We’re due at the rink at 8 if we want time with Russell before the morning classes. We should get some sleep.”

* * *

Russell’s competitive candidates classes didn’t start until 9, but Lori had a group of under-10s that she saw for an 8 AM class, so they poked their head into the annex rink to watch the mayhem. “I’m sure I must’ve looked like that at some point—” Rin pointed to one particularly unfortunate child who couldn’t manage to keep his skates under him and kept falling on his ass the moment he scrambled back to his feet, “—but damned if I can remember it.”

“Maybe you blocked it out.”

“Or maybe I’ve just _always_ been grace on blades.” Haru snorted derisively and Rin cut him a look. “Watch it—or I might accidentally drop you when we perform for Russell.”

“You already drop me half the time; I’m used to it.”

“It’s not half the time! It’s…” He wrinkled his nose. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter how practice goes; what matters is the competition.”

“Morning, boys,” came Russell’s greeting from behind them, far too cheery for the hour. Rin was generally an early-riser, but he’d slept like shit the night before after the long journey and wasn’t quite back on his game just yet. “What do you think of our up-and-comers?” He nodded to the children milling around the rink as Lori worked to round them up, a feat that seemed as difficult as herding cats.

“I think you’ll have your work cut out for you once they age out of Lori’s classes and come to you for training.”

“Hey now—if I can make something of _you_ , surely I can handle a few rowdy eleven-year-olds.” He glanced between Rin and Haru. “You two ready to show me your stuff? Or did you want to take a day or so to get the feel for the rink before I tear into your routine?”

“Nah.” Rin shook his head; they wouldn’t have time to get used to any competition rinks or the general atmosphere of performing in front of strangers before the Chuu-Shikoku-Kyuushuu Competition, so they might as well jump in feet-first. “Let’s just get it all out there on the table, then you can pick us apart piece by piece, and we’ll go from there.”

“I’ll admit you’re short on time, so best to get started as quickly as possible.” He extended an arm, inviting them to take the lead. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

The main rink was used for local competitions and had proper rink dimensions, unlike the annex rink where Lori taught. Russell left Rin and Haru to change in the locker rooms while he headed to the control room to queue up their track. This would be their first time skating for someone who mattered—someone who’d give them the straight criticism they needed so desperately. As Rin tightened his laces, he could feel nerves creeping up his spine and along his shoulders, icy fingers digging in and threatening to seize his muscles. He’d made sure to stretch and warm up, but he suddenly felt cold and not nearly limber enough. Throwing one arm over his chest until he felt a gentle burn, he surreptitiously glanced over at Haru, who seemed cool and collected as ever. It took a lot to ruffle him, and evidently one of the most important moments of their budding pairs career didn’t rank on his mental scale.

Rin prayed it was simply an even keel that kept him from showing his nerves—and not a lack of caring at all. It’d been far too easy to convince himself these past months that Haru was starting to come around, that he was developing a genuine keen interest in their partnership and that he wanted this just as badly as Rin did—but in truth, Rin hadn’t the faintest clue how Haru felt about this whole business. Maybe Rin had only seen what he’d wanted to see. 

Regardless, it was too late to do anything about Haru’s commitment or lack thereof now, so he tied off his laces with an angry tug and leapt to his feet. Maybe if Haru could fool Rin into thinking they were honestly partners, he could convince Russell of it as well.

For all his worries, though, their short program demonstration didn’t go half bad. Rin had lost himself in the rhythm and muscle memory, and the stiffness that had threatened to sink into his bones back in the locker room had relented just in time for Rin to manage the lifts and throw with minimal difficulty. It wasn’t nearly as effortless as he’d wanted it to seem, but unless Haru lost a limb or two, those elements were always going to be their weak point. They’d simply have to make up for it in their step sequences and mirroring.

Though even _those_ still needed work, Rin could tell. Their landings were still shaky for the tougher quads, and they lost sync at no less than five points throughout the routine, and their parallels weren’t as parallel as they ought to be. But, Rin told himself, that was what these final few weeks of polishing would be for. These were things he knew Russell would pick up on and help them craft a regimen to improve—but it was the things Rin _couldn’t_ see that he was nervous about, and he could feel his heart thudding nervously in his chest as the final strains of _Welcome to the Mesopelagic_ faded away.

Russell was waiting for them at the rink entrance, grinning broadly and clapping as he nodded. “Excellent, excellent stuff guys—really!”

Rin couldn’t help the nervous, giddy smile that worked its way onto his lips, though he kept reminding himself Russell likely felt obligated to offer some praise, faint though it might be. “It’s still rough as hell, I know, but—I dunno. It’s growing on me.”

“Growing on you? You don’t like it?” He glanced over at Haru, who was standing awkwardly off to the side, and flashed him a thumbs-up sign. Haru ducked a nod of thanks. “I’m gonna have that tune stuck in my head for weeks! It’s damn catchy.”

“You _liked_ the song?”

Russell shrugged. “Sure—why not? Nice and upbeat, sure to get the audience’s attention, and you looked like you were having fun. Not much more you can ask for in an SP.”

Rin rubbed the back of his neck. “Well—I guess you’ve got a point. But you don’t think it’s…I dunno, cheesy? Tacky?” He wasn’t sure his English vocabulary could quite describe what manner of absurdity they were skating to. “It’s from this kids’ anime—Haru’s into it and was really insistent we build our short program around it.”

“I don’t know anything about any anime; all I see is a skating routine set to music—a _good_ routine at that. If you’re worried about the impression it’ll make, I think you’re worrying over nothing, honestly.” And this did set Rin at ease, surprisingly enough, because some part of him had still been ashamed to be skating to such a silly song. His shame was evidently unfounded, though, and he felt he’d been unfair to Haru to have entertained such thoughts. Haru loved this song—was passionate about it. Maybe Rin was looking for Haru’s passion in all the wrong places and telling himself it didn’t exist.

Russell spared another quick glance at Haru, then lowered his voice a tick, as if fearful they might be overheard. “…I gotta admit, I’m kind of amused.”

“Amused?”

Russell grinned. “You fly the coop out of the blue, heading back to Japan with some flimsy excuse—then drop off the face of the map for months. Now I find you went there to nab yourself a pairs partner? And a boy at that!”

Rin winced. “I—didn’t mean to just disappear on you like that. It’s only, it took a lot of convincing to get Haru to even _consider_ skating pairs with me, and then we had to craft two whole programs from scratch. We’ve been playing catch-up for over half a year now.”

Russell shook his head. “I know he can skate your choreography, but is it really _that_ important?”

Rin frowned, not following. “Of course it’s important; it’s the _only_ thing that’s important. Plus…” He made a face. “Watching him skate my routine, seeing the way he just one-upped me at every turn, it pissed me off more than anything. More than the harshest criticism I’ve ever gotten from you, even.”

“High praise,” Russell grinned.

Rin shrugged. “If my partner can’t be someone who pulls that out of me, then what’s the point?” He nodded to Haru. “Plus, you saw him. He’s a phenomenal skater—he just lacks drive and focus is all. I’ve got that in spades, so I can afford to share a little with him.”

Russell raised a brow. “How exactly did you convince him to do pairs with you, then?”

Rin didn’t have the heart to confess that he _hadn’t_ really managed it just yet. Haru was his fan, according to Sasabe, but it seemed like it would take more than a simple urge to skate Rin’s choreography to make Haru sacrifice the solitude of a singles rink for the responsibility and trust issues associated with pairs. “…I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

Russell snorted softly. “Well, whatever the reason, you looked good out there. I’m happy to watch you run through it a few more times and key in the points I think you’ll need to polish up before you skate this in public, but there’s definitely potential to be something amazing.” He clapped Rin on the shoulder, giving him a soft shake. “I’m looking forward to your FS.”

Rin grinned. “You’ll like it; no kids’ stuff there.”

“I’d expect no less from _the_ Matsuoka Rin.” He ran his tongue over his lips in thought. “But…just remember that for pairs, a good routine’s only half the battle. You’ve both gotta be on the same page, knowing what makes each other tick, striving for the same goal. Focus is just as important if not _more_ so than in singles.” He cocked his head to the side, one brow raised. “Does Haru here share the same goal as you?”

Rin frowned, brows twitching and stomach knotting uncomfortably. “I…well, I mean…”

“Just something to think about is all—don’t wanna leave anything to chance for your big debut, right?”

No, indeed he did not. They broke for the time being while the ice was cleaned before the first classes started, with promises to meet again later in the afternoon to present their FS for Russell’s critique. Rin guided them out into the city again, thinking it might be a good idea to distance themselves from the ice for the conversation Rin hoped to have. He didn’t want to talk to his pairs partner just now; he needed to talk to _Haru_.

It was nearing lunch time when they stepped through a covered awning into a bit of greenspace, and Rin recognized a food truck hawking its wares and bought the pair of them meat pies, certain Haru had never had anything like it and would likely never have the chance to again if this conversation didn’t go the way Rin hoped it went. “It’s a Sydney classic,” he explained, passing Haru’s portion over and instructing him how to eat it without everything toppling off the sides. Never one to try new things, Haru was uncharacteristically receptive to the dish and dug in with relish.

They’d settled down for their meal beside a fountain, which burbled merrily even in the dead of winter as it was, and Rin lazily spooned up the mash and peas, letting the warmth of the pie in his stomach stave off the chill.

“You’re hard to read, you know that?” Haru frowned, cheeks bulging as he chewed, and his expression suggested he was irritated Rin had made such a comment when he couldn’t respond. “I mean, I never know what you’re thinking.”

Haru swallowed with visible difficulty, huffing, “Then ask.”

Rin nodded, because of course that seemed the most efficient way to get answers. “Why do you skate?”

Haru’s frown seemed to deepen, if possible. “…I already told you. You’ve asked me that _several_ times.”

“No—I mean, yeah I have, but I’ve only ever asked you why you skate in _general_.” He scooped up another spoonful of mash. “I want to know why you’re here. Why you’re skating _with me_.” It was a question he had, admittedly, been too afraid to ask before, but time was growing short, and he didn’t think he could get out there on the ice in three weeks’ time without knowing. Without hearing Haru say it in so many words—even if it wasn’t really the answer he wanted to hear. Haru turned away, lips pursing in frustration, and Rin noticed his breathing going a bit funny as Haru struggled for a response. He quickly jumped in, “You don’t have to say, you know. It’s not the answer that really matters, after all; only that there _is_ one.”

“…Then why did you ask?”

Rin shrugged. “Russell used to ask me that question every day when I trained with him. Same thing, over and over: _Why do you skate? What are you skating for?_ And then he’d remind me that the answer I gave wasn’t what really mattered—what mattered was whether or not I knew the answer _myself_. And sometimes it changed from day to day; sometimes it changed from routine to routine.” He poked through the pastry to the meaty filling. “You need a reason, though. Something to hold on, something to…to make your goal.”

Haru was staring down at his half-finished pie. “…Like the Olympics?”

“Like _what makes you happy_. What it means when you lace up your skates. If you didn’t step out onto the ice—what would you lose? Not wanting to lose that something is what makes you get out there and _do it_.”

“And…you’ve got something like that, then?”

Rin nodded, grin going a bit wan. “I want to make my dad proud. I want to show the world what he always dreamed of doing—to show them that even though he’s not around, he’s still showing the skating world something they won’t soon forget.” His lips stretched further as his smile slid into a leer. “Plus I wanna show them what they’ve been missing by not paying attention to you.” He made a fist. “I want to make every other pair out there, no matter how veteran, piss their pants at the thought of landing in a group with us.” Haru’s sour frown showed that he didn’t quite care for that kind of cocky aggression, and Rin reminded gently, “Not that that’s gotta be _your_ reasoning. I just…I want you to _like_ being out there with me. Not to feel like you _have_ to—but because you _want_ to. I want you to have something you’re skating for, just like I do.” He spooned up some of the broth and mixed it with his mash. “It makes a world of difference.”

Haru didn’t say anything, but his silence was less withdrawn solitude and more quiet contemplation, and Rin supposed that was all he could really ask for. He really, _truly_ didn’t care what Haru skated for—only that Haru _had_ something. If, in the end, it turned out Haru just skated because skating was something he could do, then this wasn’t going to work out, but if he had even the _tiniest_ inkling of a goal, a focus, a standard he wanted to reach, then maybe there was still hope. It was all Rin could cling to.

They headed back to the rink to prep for their FS demonstration, and despite the routine being more taxing than their short program, it was cleaner and more solid, and Haru seemed more focused than he had that morning. Their eyes met as they mirrored, and Rin nearly took a stumble at the intensity in Haru’s expression—not the cold Ice Prince, no; but something just as driven and keyed-in. The throw was still tiring, and RIn knew he would need to spend most every waking moment he could spare between now and the competition in the weight room, but Haru followed up smoothly whenever he misstepped or came up short, and for the first time, in a hundred and more runs of this routine, Rin started to think of him as an actual real _partner_ out on the ice. Someone who wouldn’t simply parrot his choreography but own it and shore Rin up when he needed help. 

They were met with bright applause and whoops when the music faded, Lori cheering for them from the sidelines as their own personal band of fans. “Oh dear, that was just lovely! Just—so impressive! You looked fantastic out there, Rin—and Haru!” She reached her arms out to him, and after a quick glance over at Rin for an explanation—which Rin had none to give—he skated over and let her draw him into a back-breaking hug. He looked very much like he wanted to squirm away, but he froze and let her have her way with him. “Thank you, thank you! Oh you’ve just made Rin so happy, I know!”

“Easy there; Rin’s going to need him in one piece if they’re to make a name for themselves,” Russell gently chided with a smile, and Lori release her death grip on Haru with an embarrassed apology. Russell wrapped his arm around Lori’s shoulder, giving her a little squeeze and sighing deeply.

Rin waited for Haru to draw back up alongside him, silently amused that he’d probably done so simply to put as much distance between himself and another crushing hug as possible. Licking his lips nervously, Rin finally broached the topic of concern: “So, uh…what’d you think? Honestly, really. We need it straight, and we don’t have time.”

Russell’s arm fell away from Lori, and he crossed his arms over his chest, scratching his chin in thought. “Well—I’m sure there are several points you already know you need to clean up, but…” He nodded. “I think I’ve got a few pointers I can give you to brush up on while you’re visiting. And of course our training room’s free for your use if you need it.”

Rin brightened. “Thanks! It really means a lot, honest.” He gave Haru a meaningful poke, and Haru dipped his head to indicate his gratitude as well, mouthing _thank you_ to himself. 

“Nothing to thank us for—we’re more than happy to help you get to where you’ve always been meant to be, son.” He shook his head with a thin smile, and Rin felt something tighten in his chest. “Singles sure is gonna miss you—pairs doesn’t know what a fantastic treasure it’s just received in you two.”

Unable to keep his distance any longer, Rin skated forward and practically flung himself into Russell’s open arms, squeezing tight. “…Thanks. Thanks so much.”

* * *

Two weeks in Sydney passed by in a blinding flash, and before they knew it, they were standing in the departure lounge at the airport, heading back to Japan. Lori hugged them both, reminding them she’d be watching on any illegal livestream of the event she could find, and Russell shook their hands and extracted promises to come back and visit for New Year’s so Haru could experience a proper Australian summer—and then Haru thanked them both in English, looking quite pleased with himself for the accomplishment.

They slept on the flight back, both dead to the world until the captain announced their impending arrival into Tokyo, and after several more train rides and another flight, they finally greeted a wiggling Winnie who had clearly missed them very much. The final few days were passed in relative relaxation, doing only basic forms so as not to strain themselves before the competition. This close to the finish line, there was really no sense in running drill after drill, so they decided as a pair to let what would be _be_.

And then, all too soon—though somehow not nearly soon enough—it was the night before the competition. Twenty-four hours hence, they’d have performed their SP and be turning in early to be fresh and focused for their free skate the following day. They’d be more relaxed, they’d know how the public would react to the notion of _them_ , and there would be a huge weight lifted from their shoulders. But for now, their career was still a bunch of hypotheticals and _what if_ s, wondering if they’d wasted the last seven months—if they could convince everyone looking on that this, that _they_ were worth anything.

“Thank you.”

Rin’s words were short and clipped and soft, whispered into the dark, but they hung heavy in the silence between them, with nowhere to go and no grateful ear to receive them.

He swallowed, and continued, because he needed to say these things before there was no time to anymore: “I know you didn’t want to do this at first—and maybe you still aren’t really enamored with the idea of pairs even now, but…I wouldn’t be here, about to do what I’ve dreamed all my life of doing, without you, so just—”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Haru reminded in an irritated rush, doing his level best to cut short what he likely suspected (and rightly so) would turn into some maudlin expression of gratitude.

But Rin was not to be put off, and he snorted softly, “Well yeah, maybe I don’t _have_ to thank you—but I’m still going to, so give up trying to keep me from doing so.”

Haru sighed, rolling over to face Rin—and then over further, until he’d slid off the bed and drawn up close alongside Rin, the long lines of their bodies pressed against each other, and Rin with the warmth of Winnie on one side and Haru on the other. His eyes were tiny pinpricks of light in the dark, and Rin couldn’t look away, heart thudding loud and heavy in his chest. It was dark and close and quiet—and hot, but Rin couldn’t bring himself to move, could barely remember to breathe. He’d never been this close to Haru before, and it was terrifying. “I’ve never done anything worth being thanked for. Not the entire time you’ve been here.” He settled his head on Rin’s pillow. “I’m selfish.”

Rin tried to swallow again, past the lump that had formed in his throat, but nothing came. His words were raspy with forced levity when he spoke. “…Well you won’t hear any arguments from me, then.”

Haru released a sharp breath, and Rin wondered if he’d actually laughed—but that was ridiculous, because Haru didn’t laugh at Rin’s jokes. “…But I’d like to try doing something for someone else.”

Rin blinked, processing the confession, then took a deep breath. “…Umm, good luck with that?” Why was it so _hot_? It was a heat heavier and more oppressing than the mid-September season could possibly be responsible for, and Rin found himself wishing desperately for the cool Ice Prince to bring sweet relief to bear. “Let me know how that goes.”

“Mm,” was Haru’s response, and he closed his eyes. Somehow, it felt a little cooler for no longer having to look him in the eye. “You’ll be the first to know.”

* * *

Before dawn, they piled sleep-drunk into Sasabe’s car, sleeping the whole way to Okayama International Skate Rink, and were barely coherent enough to check in. They’d arrived early enough that, thankfully, the press hadn’t yet rallied or organized in sufficient numbers to harass them, and as quickly as possible, they slipped behind the skaters-only barriers, heading for the locker rooms. The chill of the rink was they wandered the halls was a brisk wake-up, though, and this coupled with the coffee that Sasabe poured down their throats soon had them as bright-eyed as they were going to get. Nerves, Rin suspected, would do the rest.

“Vultures,” Rin muttered as they waited in an alcove for a camera crew to pass by, and Haru actually _snorted_ at the comment, apparently awake enough to be derisive now.

“I thought you liked the media. You always seemed happy to give interviews and mug for the camera.” His nose wrinkled in disgust, and Rin felt a grin stretching his lips.

“Oh? _Jealous_ , are we, Haru-chan?” He took a step back when Haru raised a fist as if to strike him. “And yeah, I guess I don’t mind them—you can never have too many sponsors, right? But…” He shrugged. “ _You_ don’t like them—and I want today to be perfect. Or as perfect as it can be.” Behind them, a door opened, and the dull, droning roar of the gathering crowd snaked out into the empty hallway before fading away again as the door slid shut. Rin stepped around, placing himself in front of Haru, and reached out to take Haru’s hands in his own, taking a steadying breath. “I don’t care if you fall. I don’t care if we overrotate the Axel. I don’t care if I mistime the throw—”

“Please _do_ care about that.”

Rin squeezed his hands in silent request for Haru to just let him get this out, no matter how uncomfortable it clearly made him. “I want today to be a day we can be proud of. Something we can look back on ten years from now and know was the beginning of something _great_. This isn’t just the first step on the road to Nationals—it’s the first step of _us_.”

Haru looked down at their hands, lips pursed in a thin frown, as he reminded curtly, “I still haven’t agreed to do more than this one competition with you, remember.”

But the words had, somewhere along the line, lost most of their bite, and Rin wasn’t going to let anything get him down today. His cheeks lifted with his smile. “You’re gonna want to, though.” He ducked his head to force Haru to meet his eyeline. “That’s what I’m skating for today. All I care about is letting you have a good time, making sure you _enjoy_ this.” He lightly kicked Haru’s skates with his own. “So don’t you forget what you’re skating for either.”

Somewhere, a buzzer sounded, summoning the next group of skaters to the rink. Junior women’s singles were just wrapping up—and the pairs would be taking the ice afterward. Rin allowed himself a soft _yosh_ and stepped away—but Haru grabbed at his sleeve, pinching the gaudy lycra fabric between two fingers to hold him in place.

“I won’t.”

Rin frowned down at his sleeve, then let his gaze travel up—locking with Haru’s. A chill juddered down his spine. “Haru…?”

“I won’t forget who I’m skating for.”

Rin’s heart seized, and he opened his mouth to force an explanation—but a staff member poked her head into the hall, glancing their way with, “Matsuoka-Nanase pair? Please ready yourselves.”

* * *

Rin wished, more than anything, he could remember that short program.

There was video footage, of course, and social media was awash in snapshots of their performance, but this paled in comparison to the memory of actually _living_ it. Actually _doing_ it.

And he couldn’t remember anything. It was like he’d completely disconnected from all conscious thought the moment he’d stepped onto the ice, and while he could remember every moment of training up to that point with startling clarity, all that remained of that day—of their first short program, their first program of _any_ sort together—was a flash of blue, the strain of muscle, the spray of ice from the toe loop, and Haru’s hand on his back, reminding him they needed to make way for the next of the three pairs competing at the tournament.

There was no Kiss and Cry for so small-scale a competition, so they stood huddled at rinkside with Sasabe waiting to hear their scores. The first scores in Rin’s life he’d ever hear as part of a pairs team. No matter the outcome, he’d taken that first step on the road to Olympic glory. He’d finally started to make good on the promise he’d made to his father so many years ago, living the dream his old man had never managed. 

“Are you going to cry?” Haru asked, gaze fixed ahead and expression blank when Rin glanced over to regard him.

“…Of course not.”

“I find that hard to believe. You definitely strike me as a crier. An ugly one at that.”

“Screw you. If I cried— _if_ I cried—I’d be so beautiful I’d bring you to tears as well.” His gaze traveled down—and he looked at Haru’s fingers. They were shaking, twitching with nerves, and this close, Rin could hear Haru’s breathing was off, stuttering and labored. Not because of the skate, but because of nerves. “…You’re scared.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. You’re nervous.” He grinned in wonder. “Nanase Haruka—worried about his score.”

“I don’t want to be embarrassed.”

“Why would you need to hear our scores to tell if you’d been embarrassed—you probably remember more of the skate than I do.” He watched Haru for a long moment, and when he received no further explanation, he prodded, “Haru—”

“I don’t want you to be embarrassed. I don’t want—” He cut himself off and swallowed. “…I don’t want you to regret this.”

And fuck, Rin was going to wind up crying before he even heard their scores—because of course Haru was right, he _was_ a crier, though he maintained he was definitely _not_ an ugly one. He licked his lips, taking a breath to steady himself. “You could never make me—”

_“Short program score for Matsuoka Rin-Nanase Haruka pair—”_

Rin reached out, unconsciously seeking Haru’s hand, and he heard Haru grunt in pain as he gripped his hand tightly. “S—sorry,” he apologized with a nervous grin, but Haru didn’t pull away. Somewhere in the fifties would be great—it was really all they could hope for, given how Rin had nearly lost his footing on the lift and had fallen out of sync on the layback, and it’d be a respectable debut score. If they couldn’t even get out of the forties, they’d be in trouble. Had they made any other mistakes? It was still a blur, a rush of emotion and excitement that blotted out the technical elements of their—

_“—67.75.”_

Above the board showing their score flashed _Tournament Record_ , and the crowd erupted into cheers, Sasabe whooping particularly loudly beside them. Rin felt his resolve finally crack, and the yelped as he leapt to his feet and scooped Haru into his arms at the waist, lifting him off the ground to twirl in place because he couldn’t just stand still. They hadn’t embarrassed themselves; they hadn’t embarrassed themselves, no—they’d done far better than Rin could have ever _hoped_. It wasn’t a world record, it wasn’t even a Japanese record, and it ranked a good twenty points below even his career worst as a singles skater, but never in his life had he been so _happy_ to see a score in the sixties. 

He was getting dizzy from whirling around, and Haru was shaking his shoulders roughly, squirming to be let down. Rin’s vision swam—he couldn’t see, couldn’t focus on anything. He finally released Haru, staggering drunkenly, and squawked in protest when someone grabbed him by the wrist and jerked him roughly around. “What the hell—”

“Come here.” It was Haru, voice rough and demanding, and Rin found himself instinctively following without thinking. They stumbled out into the hall, unsteady on their guarded blades, and Rin nearly took a nasty fall when his skate caught the edge of a stretch of carpet meant to help with traction. He braced himself against the wall, Haru trapped beneath him, and took a moment to get his bearings. He could still hear the roar of the crowd in his ears, overlaying the steady thudding thump of his heartbeat, and he was so _hot_ again. He wanted to go back out to the rink—why had Haru brought him out here? Had he wanted to avoid the cameras again? They’d have to give interviews at _some_ point—they couldn’t keep giving the media the slip like this.

He opened his mouth to remind Haru they needed to head back to the bench; that they needed to watch the other competitors, as maybe they could learn something—but suddenly Haru’s hand was on his chest, and he gave a mighty shove to roll Rin off. He nearly overbalanced, but Haru’s hand was still clamped tight about his wrist, and he snapped Rin back against the wall, reversing their positions before Rin could catch his breath, and pulled Rin down with both hands fisted in the tight lycra of his bodysuit to draw him close, sliding their lips together.

Rin’s head was still spinning, so he let the kiss happen, not entirely convinced he hadn’t hallucinated everything from the opening strains of _Welcome to the Mesopelagic_ on. Haru’s kisses were so cold they burned and hot enough to freeze everything his lips and tongue and teeth touched. He leaned forward, into Rin, and their chests brushed through the thin material of their costumes. Rin whimpered softly at the friction, jaw dropping to invite deeper contact, and Haru followed up beautifully, meeting Rin where he opened up. He braced his hands, open-palmed, against Rin’s chest and clawed down slowly, fingers almost certainly leaving red welted tracks in their wake, and Rin bucked against the contact. He rode the thigh Haru had slipped between his legs somewhere along the way and tried to swallow Haru’s tongue—when suddenly Haru was pulling back, puffy lips and flushed cheeks all Rin could see through the haze of arousal that had come out of nowhere.

“I love…I love your choreography.”

Rin blinked blearily, not quite processing the words as coherent language. “You— _what_?” He swallowed, straightening in place as everything started to slide back into some semblance of reality. This was real, it was happening—and it was happening in a very inappropriate place at a very inappropriate time. 

Haru shook his head, biting a lip already red and raw from kissing— _fuck_ , they’d been kissing. They’d been _making out_. Rin wished they still were, against his better judgment. “No, I mean—it’s…something you’re passionate about. You put everything into it. Even if you think it’s silly or childish, you still give it your all.” He grabbed Rin’s face, gloved palms braced along his jawline. “I love that.” And then they were kissing again, and half of Rin—the bottom half, mostly—wanted to whoop for joy, while the other half knew that there was…something…he was meant to be doing right now. Something that didn’t involve Haru, and Haru’s lips, and Haru’s _hands_ , and Haru’s passion finally making itself known after months and months fo Rin trying to coax it out. 

He was meant to be doing something—but it was difficult to remember what when Haru was busy proving that he was no Ice Prince, not in the _slightest_. “Ha—Haru…” he tried, voice broken and feeble.

“I told you I’d give you my answer after the free skate.” Answer? Rin couldn’t even begin to recall the question. “But I can’t wait.” He cocked his head to the side, resting his cheek against Rin’s, and everywhere they touched it burned. “I want to skate with you tomorrow knowing it won’t be the last. I want to see more of you—I want you to show me more of you. I want to keep skating with you. I want—to put my all into something too.” He tugged insistently on the collar of Rin’s costume, pulling it down enough to lay a hot, sucking kiss against his pulse, and Rin jolted back to his senses, bringing his palms up to shove Haru away, because he needed _air_.

“Fuck— _fuck_ Haru, stop. Please, stop—” And Haru did, almost to Rin’s disappointment, fixing him with an irritated, impatient frown. “We—”

Voices echoed from around the bend in the hallway, and Rin recalled where they were, cursing under his breath and grabbing Haru’s arm to drag him two doors down into the men’s restroom, where they might hope for a bit more privacy. He clomped inside, furtively checking each stall to be sure they were alone, and then locked the door behind them, breathing hard and trying to process what was happening. He glanced over his shoulder after bolting the door and saw Haru standing near the sinks, arms crossed over his chest and looking quite put-out. For the first time since lining up for their routine, Rin took a moment to look at Haru—actually _look_ at him. The gaudy costume he’d designed himself clung to thickly muscled thighs and a chest that, while not as broad as Rin’s, was still impressively defined, and thousands of sequins glinted in the harsh fluorescent light like scales. He’d hardened his jawline, but his eyes retained a vulnerable light, leaving him looking somehow both defiant and expectant.

For better or worse, he was Rin’s, and Rin was his. The only pairs partner he could ever want, the only one he could ever tolerate. “…Why did you do that?” It came out in a defeated sigh, pathetic—like whining. He was lost, more so than he’d ever been with Haru. Was it the adrenaline? A high from their admittedly rather fantastic score? Had he—shit, had he done it out of pity? 

“Ask me.”

Rin huffed. “I just _did_.”

“No.” Haru took a step forward, gaze hard. “Ask me the question.”

Oh. Rin sighed, a bit irritated at the game. “Why do you skate?” But Haru just shook his head, and after a moment’s consideration, Rin tried again: “…Why do you skate pairs?”

“Because.” Another step, and now he had Rin backed up against the door—and for all the several centimeters of height he had over Haru and the breadth of chest as well, he couldn’t move, pinned. Frozen. “I don’t want you to skate alone anymore.” He then added, because he was Haru: “And I’m the only one good enough to skate with you.” If Rin had retained more of his faculties, he might have laughed at this, or at least snorted derisively, because what a _jackass_ —but instead all he could focus on was how he could feel Haru’s body heat radiating through the thin material of their suits, and how much better might it feel laid against Rin in a long line? “Rin.”

“Huh…?”

“Why do you skate pairs?”

The vulnerability was still there in Haru’s eyes, urgent and urging, and Rin shoved all thoughts of lips and heat aside and focused on just _Haru_. Haru finally showing him passion in a most unexpected—but not unappreciated—way. Haru, telling him finally, as explicitly as he could manage, that this wasn’t their end but really truly their beginning. “…Because I don’t want to skate alone anymore.” He parroted Haru’s words back at him, because they fit, then frowned in confusion. “But…you don’t like pairs, though. You like privacy and quiet and…and everything I’m not.” He wasn’t sure why he was trying to talk Haru _out_ of this, but there it was. “You only did this much for me because you liked my choreography.”

Haru shrugged. “You said yourself—reasons change.”

It was a frustratingly arbitrary response that, under other circumstances, might have caused Rin to yank his hair out at the roots—but just now, it sent a giddy thrill roiling through Rin’s stomach. He shuddered with joyful nerves, stifling the urge to pick Haru up at the waist again and whirl him around. He doubted he’d get away with it with all ten fingers intact this time. Instead, he let his giddy smile slide into a leer, and he pointed a finger at Haru’s chest to poke him. “You know this means I’m not gonna hold back now, right?”

Haru’s gaze narrowed in suspicious accusation. “You’ve been _holding back_?” He sounded so abjectly offended, Rin had to laugh—but any idle giggles and chuckles died swift deaths in his throat when Haru’s hands went to Rin’s hips, steadying him in place. 

“Whoa—whoa whoa whoa,” he protested, gently easing Haru’s hands away with nervous laughter. “Shit—no more of that. Please.” He was already going to have to splash some cold water on himself as it was.

“ _No_?” Haru repeated, practically spitting the word, and Rin cursed himself, scrambling to explain.

“No just—not here, that’s all. I mean we’re in a dirty bathroom, and anyone could try to come in at any moment, and we’ve still gotta go back out there and do press.” Here, Haru made a face of disgust. “Oh don’t act so _shocked_. So what I’m saying is, I can’t go out there looking like…” He gestured to himself, adjusting his dick through his pants.

Haru gave him an appraising look. “…I could help.”

“You’ve ‘helped’ enough, thanks,” he muttered, stepping past Haru for the sinks before the guy got any other bright ideas. “I’m gonna have enough trouble as it is.”

“That’s the point.” Haru leaned against the wall, looking on coolly as Rin struggled to adjust himself so he didn’t look like he was walking around at half-mast. “You’ll only be distracted and irritated now; releasing would relax you.”

How did he make such turns of phrase sound so damn _dirty_? God, what would other words sound like delivered with such monotonic disdain? Rin shivered, shaking his head. “I—that…that doesn’t work for me.”

“No…?”

Rin shook his head again, more firmly this time. “No.”

Haru sniffed, picking absently at a thread coming unraveled from his sleeve. “It works for me.”

Rin closed his eyes and ordered his fingers to cease their twitching—he was not going to jerk off his pairs partner in a dingy men’s room in Okayama. “Well good for you. Feel free to pick a stall.” He turned on the tap and splashed water in his face, then held a hand out, waiting for Haru to pass him a paper towel. As he mopped his face clean, he cut Haru a glance. “…But I’d rather not have to worry about anyone coming to find us when this is all over—or having to be in peak condition for tomorrow’s free skate.”

Haru wrinkled his nose, as if he’d nearly forgotten they were only halfway done with the competition. “…I suppose.”

Rin drew up straight, slinking forward, and braced a hand over Haru’s head to lean in just enough to where their noses brushed. “I want to make it to where we can’t walk straight, let alone lace up and do compulsory figures.”

“That’s ambitious.”

“You know me; I aim high—and I don’t stop til I get what I want.” He reached for Haru’s wrist, tugging him along as he stepped away from the wall. “Come on; let’s show everyone else a sight they’ve never seen before…and then tomorrow you can show me what else you love about me besides my choreography.”

“It’ll be a short list,” was the sharp rejoinder.

“You _really_ want to talk shit to the guy who’s still got to lift you in the air over his head for another routine?”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Haru announced confidently, snatching back his hand when he apparently tired of being led like a child. “Then we’d never be legends.”

Rin unlocked the door, pulling it open and motioning Haru through. “I thought you didn’t care about being legendary.”

“I don’t.” He stepped out into the hall, then hailed a camera-toting crewmember lingering around a rather lost-looking Sasabe. He glanced back at Rin, jerking his head in a beckoning gesture. “But I want to try doing something for someone else.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I must confess that I did take a little bit of artistic license with this story; of course male pairs skating is not a thing in real life, but given that the world of 'Yuri!!! on Ice' is one in which there is no discrimination against same-sex couples, it stands to reason that pairs skating would have long ago been desegregated (or never limited to male-female pairs to begin with). Further, realistically, Rin and Haru would never have faced any competition at such a small regional tournament as the Chuu-Shikoku-Kyuushuu tournament (the same one presented early on in YOI; this is a real tournament, and yes, technically Iwatobi/Iwami falls under its purview!), let alone been one of three pairs, but I thought I'd add in a couple of other pairs just to give them at least some semblance of pressure.
> 
> For the curious, Rin and Haru's free skate song is _Duel_ by Bond (listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eVUi7VWFO84)), and unfortunately, _Welcome to the Mesopelagic_ does not exist, but don't we all wish it did?


End file.
